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“ 1 got into the zvay of telling Mollie long stories^ 


SILVER LININGS 


BY 

NINA RHOADES 

II 



ILLUSTRATED BY MARGARET ECKERSON 


NEW YORK 

McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. 


M CM 1 1 I 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copibs Receivec 

SEP 25 1903 




Copyright, 1903, hy 

McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. 


Published, September, 1903 




To My Dear Friend 

J^elen ISeller 

This Little Book 
is Affectionately Dedicated. 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 
V. 

VI. 

vir. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 




% 


I Introduce Myself and Learn My Origin, 

I Advance in Years and Have an Adventure, 

My First Sorrow, 

The Blow Falls, . .... 

I Incur George’s Displeasure, .... 

I Learn More of My Family History, . 

I Lose My Temper and Say what I Have After 
WARDS Cause to Regret, .... 

A Long Journey, with an Unpleasant Ending, 

I Learn My Fate 

Life with the Garlands, 

The New Boarder, 

Mollie Makes a Discovery, .... 
Mollie’s Opinion is Confirmed, .... 

Mrs. West Prevaricates and Proves Herself 

Friend in Need 

I Set Out to Seek My Fortune and Meet with an 

Unlooked for Difficulty 

Miss Adams Assists, 

At “The Home for Destitute Blind,” . 

A Change of Air, 

Mrs. Lester’s Friend, 

I Make a Morning Call, 

Mrs. Sheehan’s Warning, 

For Lulu’s Sake, 


PAGE 

3 

22 

28 

46 

55 

66 

78 

95 

108 

120 

128 

138 

153 

161 

175 

189 

199 

219 

234 

253 

265 

277 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII. I AM Cared for and Find a Friend instead of an 

Enemy, 288 

XXIV. Miss Adams Teaches Me My Duty, . . . 301 

XXV. Jessie Tells a Story, 3i5 

XXVI. Miss Adams is Surprised, 327 

XXVII. George Speaks the Truth, . . . . • 335 

Conclusion, . . . . 345 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ I got into the way of telling Mollie long stories ” Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

“ None of your rich messes to give ’em the dyspepsie, 

but good plain food ” 204 

“ ‘ He was a Punchinello, 

Sweet Columbine was she ’ ” 208 


‘‘I want to thank you for your kindness to my sister” . 332 



SILVER LININGS 






I 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF, AND LEARN MY ORIGIN 

I try to recall the dim memories of my early 



childhood, the first thing which stands out in 


-^my mind with any degree of clearness, is 
being on a railway train on my way from New York to 
Chicago. Why I was making that journey I had at the 
time no clear idea, which is not very surprising, con- 
sidering that I was only four years old; but of the one 
fact that I had been living in New York, and was 
now going to live in Chicago, I was perfectly aware. 

I remember that I rather enjoyed the motion of the 
train; that I sang to myself, and hugged a big rag doll, 
as I sat on the lap of someone, who was very kind to me, 
and whom I called Nanna. People seemed to take a 
good deal of notice of me; I remember that one gentle- 
man gave me some candy — which, however, Nanna 
would not let me eat — another passenger patted my 
head and called me a poor little thing. I think I must 
have been accustomed to being called a poor little thing, 
for I do not remember that I was at all surprised. 

I was hungry after a while, and when the train 
stopped at a station Nanna made the porter bring me 
some milk; after drinking, I think I curled myself up in 
Nanna’s arms and fell asleep. 

I was still very sleepy when Nanna roused me, and 


4 SILVERLININGS 

Standing me on my feet, told me we were in Chicago, 
and must get out of the train. I remember I objected 
to being disturbed in my nap, and began to cry, where- 
upon I heard a kind voice say, “ Poor little thing ! let me 
carry her,” and I was lifted in strong arms, and borne 
out to the platform, where it was very cold, and where 
the rain blew in my face. 

I have no distinct recollection of anything that 
happened after that until I found myself in mother’s 
arms, and heard her dear, loving voice say, as she 
covered my dirty, travel-stained little face with kisses, 
“ Poor, poor darling! how tired she must be. She shall 
have some nice warm supper, and then she shall go 
straight to bed.” 

Then I heard Rose’s voice (though I did not know 
then that it was Rose’s) saying, wonderingly, “ Can’t 
she really see anything, mother? not a single thing?” 
Mother did not answer, but she held me all the closer, 
and though I had not the least idea what the words 
meant, I began to cry again, because I was tired and 
sleepy; hiding my face on her breast. 

That is the very first episode in my life of which I 
have the faintest recollection, and for some time after 
that my memories are very dim and confused. Little 
things stand out clearly here and there, as, for instance, 
I remember that Nanna somehow passed out of my life, 
and was succeeded by Lizzie, who was also very kind to 
me, and of whom I in time grew quite fond. But up to 
the period when I was six or seven years old I can give no 
coherent account of my life or of myself. 

I was, on the whole, a very happy child. The fact 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF 5 

of my blindness did not trouble me at all in those days. 
I knew in a vague way that I was different from other 
little girls, but having no memory of anything else, this 
did not impress me particularly, and I think that at 
times I was even a little proud of the extra notice I re- 
ceived. No one ever called Rose a poor little thing, but 
then, to be sure. Rose was six years older than I, and that 
might account for the difference. Everyone petted me; 
mother spoiled me, and I had everything in the world 
that I wanted. 

My principal amusement was hearing stories, and I 
would at any time drop my dolls or other toys, for the 
sake of hearing someone read aloud to me. When I 
was six I learned my letters, and was soon able to read 
in raised print. After that my sum of happiness 
was quite complete. Books in raised print were not so 
plentiful then as they are now, but mother — who never 
denied me anything she could help — procured all that 
were to be had, and I dare say the very fact that I had 
so few made those that I did possess all the more pre- 
cious. I would sit for a whole afternoon quite happy 
and contented, poring delightedly over “ Aesop’s 
Fables,” or Dickens’ “ Child’s History of England.” 
The Bible soon became one of my favourite books — not, 
I fear, because I was a particularly religious child — ^but 
because the Bible stories interested me intensely. 

We lived in a big house, whose back windows looked 
out on the lake, and there was a small garden in which 
Rose and her friends used to play. Sometimes when 
Rose was in a good humour, she would take me out there 
too, and on such occasions I was very proud and happy. 


SILVER LININGS 


6 

Most of the girls made much of me, even if Rose did 
not, and I looked upon them all as quite grown up young 
ladies. Father was a lawyer, and considered for those 
days very well off. Mother had her carriage, and Rose 
and I had every educational advantage. Rose went to a 
big, fashionable school, but I always studied at home; 
first with mother, who taught me to read, and then with 
a daily governess, who taught also at “ The Institution 
for the Blind.” I learned geography by means of 
raised maps, and arithemetic through a system of raised 
figures. I also learned to knit, and to make bead bas- 
kets, but the thing I enjoyed next best to my reading was 
music. I began to take music lessons when I was eight, 
and as I had a good ear and a good memory, I learned 
rapidly, and had soon mastered a few simple pieces, 
which were the joy of my life. Mother had a lovely 
voice, and shall I ever forget my pride and delight when 
I first learned to play her accompaniments ! 

Mother and I were everything to each other. Even 
as a little thing I was always happier with her than with 
anyone else. Rose was father’s favourite, and no won- 
der, she was so pretty, everyone said, and she could be 
very fascinating when she chose. Mother — who was a 
perfect angel — never punished either of us if she could 
help it, and I dare say that was one reason why Rose was 
sometimes rather hard to get on with. Father was also 
very good to us, but he never petted me as mother did, 
and in our little quarrels he would always take Rose’s 
part. 

We had no near relatives. There were some cousins 
of father’s who used to come to stay with us sometimes, 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF 7 

but mother’s people had all come from the East, and we 
never saw any of them. Children, as a rule, do not 
think very much about anything beyond their immediate 
surroundings, and up to the time I was ten years old I 
do not think I had ever given the subject of family con- 
nections a thought. And then all at once something 
happened which changed the whole face of the world to 
me, and for a time made me feel like quite a different 
creature. 

How well I remember that day! If I live to be a 
very old woman I don’t think I shall ever forget it. It 
was a rainy Saturday in November and I was feeling 
particularly cross and “fractious,” as Lizzie called it, the 
chief reason for which was, that I had been confined to 
the house for several days with a severe cold, and mother 
had made me refuse an invitation, which one of Rose’s 
friends had kindly sent me, to go and hear “ Pinafore ” 
that afternoon. I had only been to the theatre two or 
three times in my life, and to be kept at home on this 
occasion was, I considered, a very severe and a very 
unnecessary trial. In vain had I argued that my throat 
was quite well; that if I went in the carriage I could not 
by any possibility add to my cold; that Nellie Foster 
would think me very rude and unkind if I did not go, 
after the tickets had been procured. Kind and indulgent 
as mother was, when she had once made up her mind 
about anything she was as firm as a rock. 

To add to my grievances, mother herself was not feel- 
ing well that day, and had retired to her room with a bad 
headache, immediately after luncheon. Rose had been 
out late at a dancing class the night before, and was in 


8 


SILVER LININGS 
consequence decidedly fretful — mother always said that 
late hours never agreed with Rose. Rose was sixteen 
then ; she no longer played in the back yard, but turned 
up her hair, and wore dresses down to the tops of her 
shoes. In my opinion she was quite grown up, and noth- 
ing delighted me more than hearing about the attention 
she received at parties, for, on this point, she was gen- 
erally communicative even to me. But on that after- 
noon she was quite unapproachable, even on this, her 
favourite subject, and she promptly sent me out of her 
room, with the curt announcement that she was going to 
read, and could not be bothered. Even my usual 
standby, Lizzie, had gone to the dentist’s, so I could not 
find comfort in her society and the luxury of being 
read to. 

I spent an hour with Dickens’ “ Child’s History ” — 
which I was then reading over for the ninth time — and 
another hour in playing some new pieces on the piano; 
and then, on discovering that it was only four o’clock, I 
began to feel very dull and discontented. 

I wandered into the dining-room, in quest of cookies. 
I was not in the least hungry, but I thought that eating 
would help to pass the time. Annie, the waitress, was 
in the pantry, cleaning silver, and singing softly to her- 
self. Annie was rather a new member of the house- 
hold, and I paused in the doorway to listen to her song. 
She sang in rather a cracked voice, and with a strong 
Irish accent, but it struck me that the words sounded in- 
teresting, and anything in the shape of a story was sure 
to attract my attention at once. I heard that same song 
so many times afterwards that I can remember the words 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF 9 

distinctly. It was entitled “ The Poor Little Sweep,” 
and ran thus : 

^Twas a cold, frosty morning; 

The snow down was falling, 

When a child of misfortune most bitterly was 
calling 

'' Oh, weep, my hoysf* he cried, 

“ The snow is very deep, 

W on^ t you rise and have compassion 
On the poor little sweep? ” 

A tender-hearted lady 

By chance, she heard him zveep. 

And she was all compassion 
On the poor little sweep. 

She took him by the hand; 

In a neighbour's house she led him; 

She sat him by the fire, 

And most tenderly she fed him. 

At this point of the story I suddenly advanced into 
the pantry. “What made her do that, Annie?” I 
demanded, — to me every character in a play, a book, or 
even a song, was a real living human being, whose 
actions were open to sympathy and also to criticism. 

“ Good land I ” exclaimed Annie, turning round, and 
bringing her song to an abrupt intermission; “ I didn’t 
know you were there. Why didn’t you say something 
before? ” 

“ Because I was listening to the song,” I returned. 
“ Why do you suppose she did it? ” 


10 


SILVER LININGS 

“Who did what?” 

“ Why, the tender-hearted lady. Why did she take 
him into a neighbour’s house ? I should think she would 
have taken him to her own house, shouldn’t you ? Do 
you suppose she was stingy? ” 

Annie laughed. “ It’s only a song,” she said, care- 
lessly, as though that fact settled the question; but I was 
not satisfied. 

“The neighbour’s house must have been quite near her 
own, you know,” I went on speculatively, “ because your 
neighbours are the people who live on the same street 
with you, or else just round the corner. I wonder why 
she did it.” 

“ I don’t know. I’m sure,” said Annie, who had not a 
vivid imagination. “ The song doesn’t say. What do 
you want now? some cookies, or a drink of water? ” 

“ I want to hear the rest of the song,” I said, with 
decision. “Go on, please; I want to know what 
happened next.” 

Annie laughed again, and being a good-natured girl — 
perhaps too, flattered by my admiration of her song — 
went on in her cracked voice : 

Then she gazed and she * mazed at his dark, 
sooty features. 

She embraced him to her bosom^ and she 
called him many creatures. 

“ Come home with me, my brother dear, 

No more you shall weep. 

And go through streets and alleys 
Crying, poor little sweep. 


II 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF 
“ It is three years and over 

Since this child has gone astray ^ 

And I never heard a word from him 
Until this very day, 

When passing by chance, I heard him cry, 

Oh, bitterly he did weep! 

W on^ t you rise and have compassion 
On the poor little sweep? ” 

“ That is quite a nice song,” I remarked, with satis- 
faction, as Annie’s strains ceased. “ I should think, 
though, that she would have wanted to give him a bath 
before she embraced him to her bosom. He must have 
been very dirty. I wonder how he happened to go 
astray, and where he had been all those three years and 
over. That’s the trouble with songs; they’re so short, 
they never tell all one wants to know.” 

At that moment the cook’s voice was heard calling 
from the foot of the back stairs, “ Annie, are you there? 
There’s someone to see you down here.” 

Annie promptly departed, and I made my way 
slowly upstairs, having quite forgotten the cookies in my 
interest in the fortunes of “ The Poor Little Sweep.” 
I wondered if he had father and mother as well as a 
sister, and if they were all very glad to see him again. 
And then I fell to wondering what my family would do 
and say if I should “ go astray ” — and that thought 
brought me back to my troubles again. If I were lost, 
perhaps mother would be sorry to remember that she 
had deprived me of the pleasure of hearing “ Pinafore,” 
and I was very sure Rose would be sorry she had been so 


12 


SILVER LININGS 
cross, and had refused to tell me all the nice things Bob 
Hammond had said to her at the dancing class. (Bob 
Hammond was Rose’s special admirer just then, and he 
was really a grown up young gentleman, and going to 
Harvard next year.) 

I did not like to disturb mother, but I thought perhaps 
Rose might be feeling more amiable by that time, so I 
decided to go to her room and make another appeal. 
But the room, when I reached it, was apparently empty. 
I called Rose, but received no answer, and after hesitat- 
ing a moment, uncertain whether to enter, or to go back 
to my own premises, I made up my mind to go in and 
wait for Rose, who would probably return in a few 
moments. 

I was accustomed to going all over the house by 
myself, and I seldom knocked against anything, or did 
any damage. But Rose’s room was full of little knick- 
knacks, which she was constantly changing about, and 
she had charged me strictly not to move around in it 
alone. Mindful of these instructions, I seated myself 
meekly in a chair by the door, to await my sister’s return, 
with what patience I might. All would have gone well 
if I had not suddenly remembered a certain china dog, 
which Rose had brought home as a german favour from 
last evening’s dancing class. Rose had promised to 
give me this dog as an ornament for my baby house, but 
I had forgotten to ask for it when I came into her room 
after luncheon. Now I was quite sure I knew just where 
the china dog stood on the bureau, among a number of 
other german favours. I had placed it there myself 
that very morning, after examining it. Why should I 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF 13 

not take possession of it then and there, and carry it off 
to the nursery ? 

Prudence whispered, “ Wait till Rose comes back,” 
but Impatience urged that such a course was unnecessary 
under the circumstances, and Impatience as usual had its 
way. 

Accordingly I rose from my seat and began cautiously 
making my way in the direction of the bureau. I 
reached the bureau in safety and soon found the china 
dog in the very spot where I had left it. 

Flushed with triumph, I took half a dozen backward 
steps when, alas ! there was a crash, a sound of breaking 
china, and next moment I stood, a little, trembling, con- 
science-smitten figure, awaiting the punishment that I felt 
I richly deserved, as the sound of approaching footsteps 
and voices fell upon my ears, and mother and Rose 
entered the room together. 

With a cry of rage Rose sprang upon me ; her temper, 
never of the sweetest, was apt to be violent when things 
went wrong with her. 

“ You little nuisance,” she cried, seizing my trembling 
arm in a firm grasp, “ how many times have I told you 
not to come meddling in my room? See what she’s 
done, mother; upset my little table, and smashed all my 
things. Oh, you horrid, meddlesome little thing ! ” 
And Rose began shaking me violently. 

“ Rose, Rose,” exclaimed mother, indignantly, as my 
wails broke forth at this unpleasant treatment, “ for 
shame ! A girl of your age to fly into such a passion. 
Leave your little sister alone at once, do you hear me? ” 

“ She’s not my little sister,” stormed Rose, quite be- 


14 SILVERLININGS 

side herself, “ I won’t call her so ; horrid little bother ! I 
don’t see why you ever wanted to take her. She ought 
to have been sent to an asylum.” 

“ Rose, stop ! ” Never had I heard mother speak in 
such an awful voice before. How she looked I do not 
know, but Rose was evidently frightened. She dropped 
my arm, and turned away, muttering something unin- 
telligible. As for me, I had stopped crying in sheer 
astonishment. I had not the very slightest idea what 
Rose was talking about. There was a moment of dead 
silence ; then mother came over to me and took my hand. 

“ Come with me, Daisy,” she said, in an odd, 
smothered voice, “come to mother’s room; mother 
wants to talk to you.” 

She led me away, but at the door Rose intercepted us. 

“ Don’t be angry, mother,” she whispered, “ I’m 
sorry, I didn’t mean ” — but mother pushed past her, 
without a word, and I heard Rose sobbing, as we crossed 
the hall. 

My heart was beginning to beat very fast, and I felt 
cold and queer all over; still I had no idea what it all 
meant. 

Mother took me into her room and shut the door. 
Then, still in that same unnatural silence, she sat down, 
and lifted me to her lap. She held me very tight, 
almost painfully tight, and I could feel that she was 
trembling, and that her breath came in quick gasps. 

“ Mother,” I said, in a frightened whisper, “ mother, 
what is it? What makes you so very angry with Rose? 
I’m sorry I upset the table, but I didn’t know it was 
there.” 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF IS 

“ Hush, my darling, hush ! ” The anguish in 
mother’s voice frightened rne more than anything else 
had done, and I began to cry again. 

“ My poor little one ! my poor little one ! ” mother 
went on, speaking more to herself than to me. Oh, 
how could she ! how could she ! ” 

“ I don’t believe Rose meant to be naughty,” I said, 
eager to say a good word for my sister, now that she was 
so evidently in disgrace. “ I know she’s sorry; she 
always is sorry, you know. But, mother,” I added, 
with a sudden recollection, “ what made her say I wasn’t 
her sister? What did she mean? ” 

Mother was silent for a moment, but when she spoke 
it was a different tone; low and gentle, and more like 
herself. 

“ Daisy, my own darling, my own little girl,” she 
said, tenderly, holding me close in her dear arms; “ it 
was very wrong in Rose to say what she did, very wrong 
indeed, but, my pet, it is quite true.” 

“Quite true!” I exclaimed, lifting my head in 
incredulous amazement. “ Oh, mother, it can’t be 
true!” and I clung to her in a sudden access of 
terror. 

“ Yes, my darling, it is true. We never meant you 
to know yet; not until you were much older. Don’t 
tremble so, sweetheart ; there is nothing to be frightened 
about. My little girl must listen to the story mother 
has to tell her.” 

So she soothed and comforted me, as she only could 
have done, and in a few moments I was lying in her 
arms, quite calm, though my heart still beat fast, listen- 


l6 SILVERLININGS 

ing with deep interest to the story she was telling me in 

her sweet, gentle voice. 

“ When Rose said you were not her little sister she 
said what was in one sense quite true. You are my own 
darling, precious little child. Yes, the very dearest 
thing in the whole world to me,” she added, with a touch 
of something like defiance in her tone, “ but I am not 
your very own mother. Don’t cry so, sweet; mother 
can’t bear it if you do. That’s right, dry your eyes; 
now listen : your dear mother was my own twin sister. 
She and I were all the world to each other, and when she 
went away to Heaven I thought my heart was broken. 

“ You know that I used to live in New York when I 
was a little girl. Helen — that is your mother, dear — 
married some years before I did, and as our parents were 
both dead, I lived with her. I was very fond of your 
father, too ; he and your mother loved each other dearly, 
and we were all very happy together. Oddly enough, 
your own father’s name was Warren, too, for he and 
fa — I mean my husband, were distant cousins, so you see 
your name will always be Daisy Warren, just the same. 

“ It made me very sad to have to go so far away from 
my dear sister when I married, but father’s business was 
in the West, so I had to go. We went to New York 
for a visit once when Rose was a baby, and I never saw 
Helen after that. Your mother died when you were a 
tiny baby, and your father when you were not quite four. 
Your poor father had been cheated by a man he trusted, 
and had lost all his money just before he died. So 
when we heard of it, and knew there was nothing left 
for you, then dear father was very good to me. When 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF 17 

he saw how badly I felt he said that if I wished we might 
send for you, and adopt you as our very own little girl. 
We did send for you, and the woman who had been 
your nurse brought you all the way from New York, and 
you have been my own, own precious baby ever since.” 

“ I remember it,” I broke in, eagerly, “ I came in a 
train, and a gentleman gave me some candy. Oh, 
mother, it all sounds like a fairy story. Are you quite 
sure you’re not making it up? ” 

“ Quite sure,” said mother, half laughing, in spite of 
her distress. “We all knew you must hear the story 
some time, of course; indeed there was no reason why 
you should not. Father thought it would have been 
better to tell you everything at first, but I had a feeling 
that I wanted you to be all mine just for a little while, 
and yet I am afraid I was very selfish, for I ought to 
have wanted you to love your own dear mother, 
too.” 

“ I won’t, never! ” I affirmed stoutly, hugging her 
tight. “ I can’t have two mothers, and I won’t ever 
have any other mother but you.” 

It was all so wonderful, so inexplicable, I don’t think 
I fully realised the significance of the story at first. I 
sat on mother’s lap for a long time, and she talked to 
me very sweetly and tenderly, and by degrees I began 
to understand a little more of what it all meant, and to 
ask questions about my parents. 

“ Did I ever have any brothers and sisters of my very 
own?” I inquired, feeling much like the heroine of 
some interesting work of fiction, as I thought of the 
added importance I should probably gain among my 


l8 SILVERLININGS 

friends when the fact became known that I was that 

very interesting person, an adopted child. 

“ You had one brother, much older than yourself, but 
he died when you were very little; long before you came 
to us.” 

“ What did he die of ? ” I inquired, with pardonable 
curiosity. 

“ He was drowned,” said mother softly. “ It was 
very sad; it broke your father’s heart.” 

“ What was his name? Was he a nice boy? ” 

“ His name was Charlie. Yes, he was a very nice 
boy indeed. We were all very fond of him. I have 
a picture of him, which your mother sent me just before 
she died. He was very handsome.” 

“ How old was he? ” I demanded, having a love for 
detail. 

“ Just fourteen when — when it happened. He was 
twelve years older than you. There were two other 
little boys, but they both died when they were babies.” 

“ How did be get drowned? ” 

Mother hesitated slightly before she replied: 

“ It was a shipwreck, a terrible shipwreck. The 
steamer caught fire, and, oh, Daisy, it was very terrible ; 
I would rather not tell you about it.” 

“ But I think it’s very interesting,” I persisted. “ I 
should like to hear all about it. Was I on the steamer, 
too? ” 

“ No, dear, none of the family were on board — no 
one but your brother. It is a very sad story, Daisy. 
Poor Charlie got into dreadful trouble, and he ran 
away to sea, because he was afraid his father would 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF 19 

never forgive him. He was very fond of me, for you 
know I told you I had lived with your father and 
mother until I was married, and he always seemed like 
my own little boy. He wrote me a heart-broken let- 
ter, telling me what he had done, and what he was 
going to do. Some time when you are older, perhaps I 
will read the letter to you, for I always kept it, but I 
would rather not tell you any more about it now.” 

“ Was it something very bad? ” I inquired, in rather 
an awestruck whisper. 

Mother’s arms tightened about me, and I felt her 
heart beating fast. 

“ It was very, very sad,” she said, “ but it was not so 
wicked as it was unfortunate. Poor boy ! he was young 
and thoughtless; it ought not to have ended as it did.” 

“ I wish you would tell me all about it,” I said, wist- 
fully. 

“ No, darling, now now. Perhaps some time when 
you are older and can understand better, but I would 
rather you never knew. Poor Charlie is dead ; there is 
no use in talking about the sad affair now. Let me 
tell you some more about your own sweet mother.” 

I stayed with mother a long time that afternoon; in- 
deed, until we heard father’s footsteps, and then she 
kissed me rather hurriedly and sent me away to the nur- 
sery. I had often noticed that father never seemed 
particularly pleased when he found mother and me alone 
together. He always asked in rather an annoyed tone 
where Rose was, and acted as if something had put him 
out. He was very fond of Rose; I suppose he was 
jealous for her. 


20 


SILVER LININGS 

I did not go back to the nursery, however, when I 
left mother, but made my way straight to Rose’s room. 
I found her lying on the bed, and I knew from the 
sound of her voice that she had been crying. She re- 
sponded very meekly when I asked if I might come in, 
and she did not even object when I scrambled up beside 
her on the bed, although she usually objected, declaring 
that I soiled the white spread with my boots. (Rose 
was a very peculiar young person, and liked to have 
everything in her room in “ apple-pie order.”) 

“ Rose,” I began, settling myself comfortably down 
beside her, when I found her in such an amiable mood, 
“ I’m very sorry I upset the table; I didn’t know you 
had moved it, I truly didn’t, and I was only looking for 
that little china dog you said I might have.” 

“ Oh, it doesn’t matter! ” said Rose, moving some- 
what uneasily, “ you only broke one thing, and I don’t 
care much about that. What have you been doing all 
the afternoon? ” 

“ I’ve been in mother’s room,” I returned, not with- 
out an air of importance, “ and she’s been talking to me. 
Rose, it was all true what you said about my not being 
really your sister. I’m not.” 

“ Oh, yes, you are 1 ” Rose protested, with a peni- 
tent hug. “I was a beast to say it; I’m awfully 
sorry.” 

“ But you needn’t be,” I hastened to assure her, “ be- 
cause I really don’t mind it very much. It does seem 
awfully funny, and I don’t think I’m quite used to it yet, 
but mother says she loves me just as much as if she was 
my real true mother, and then, you see, it’s very nice to 


21 


I INTRODUCE MYSELF 
think she wanted me so much. She couldn’t help hav- 
ing you, you know, Rose, but she needn’t have sent for 
me if she hadn’t wanted to. It’s really very interesting, 
and I’m going to tell Marie Leslie and Edith Fox about 
it the very next time I see them.” 


II 

I ADVANCE IN YEARS AND HAVE AN ADVENTURE 

F or some time after that eventful Saturday I felt 
very much as if the solid earth had been cut away 
from beneath my feet. The more I thought 
about the story mother had told me, the more wonderful 
did it seem. For several nights I lay awake a long time 
thinking about it, and for fully two weeks I continued to 
think of myself as a person of considerable importance. 
Rose, who was really ashamed of her outburst, was un- 
usually kind for some time, and the few intimate friends 
to whom I related the history of my birth were properly 
impressed by it. I suppose mother realised the impos- 
sibility of keeping the thing a secret, for she made no 
objection to my speaking of it to whomsoever I chose. 
But gradually, as I found no change in my quiet, unevent- 
ful life, the novelty of the thing began to wear off. I 
was treated precisely as I had always been, only, if pos- 
sible, mother seemed more devoted to me than before. 
By the end of six months I had almost forgotten the 
whole affair, and child-like, had accepted things just as 
they were. 

Life went on as usual for some time, and there 
was no change in our little household, except the in- 
evitable changes of years. When Rose was eighteen she 


22 


I ADVANCE IN YEARS 23 

came out in society, and for a while our quiet house was 
gay. I did not have mother so much to myself in 
those days, for she was very busy taking Rose about to 
balls and parties and fashionable dressmakers. Mother 
hated society herself, but father told her it would be 
very selfish in her not to enter into Rose’s pleasures, and 
of course she yielded to his wishes, as she always did. 
Rose was a beauty and a belle. I was very plain, and 
painfully shy and nervous with strangers. Still I can 
truly say I never envied Rose her good times. I had 
no lack of good time myself, though in a different way; 
and in my books and my music I was supremely happy. 
I used to love to hear about Rose’s parties, and especially 
about the attention various young gentlemen paid 
her. When she was in a good humour she would often 
condescend to tell me a good many interesting things, 
though always with the understanding that I was not to 
mention them to mother, for mother had old-fashioned 
notions about little girls. As for mother herself, she 
never went out with Rose that she did not give me a 
full account of the festivities, even trying to remember 
what the different girls wore, which always interested 
me very much. Even she could not help dropping occa- 
sional hints about Rose’s conquests, for, in her lov- 
ing gentle way, she was very proud of her beautiful 
daughter. 

Of course I had my favourites among Rose’s admirers, 
nearly all of whom were very kind to me. My special 
favourite was a certain Fred Harris; a pleasant, good- 
natured young fellow, not overburdened with brains, 
who was tremendously devoted to Rose, and used to 


24 SILVERLININGS 

send her the most delicious candy and the most beauti- 
ful flowers every week. The candy was generally handed 
over to me, for Rose objected to eating sweets, for fear 
of injuring her complexion. 

For some time we all thought Rose liked Fred Harris 
very much, and I often pictured to myself what a de- 
lightful brother-in-law he would be. Then all at once 
they had a silly quarrel about something, and I over- 
heard Rose telling mother she was never going to speak 
to him again. Even then I think they might have made 
up, and everything gone well, if it had not been 
that just about that time George Ripley began to make 
himself very agreeable to Rose. 

Now of all the young men who came to the house to 
see Rose, the only one for whom I entertained an actual 
dislike was George Ripley. Not that he was unkind 
to me ; on the contrary, he took special pains to be nice to 
me, and even brought me little presents sometimes. 
He would come and talk to me, asking questions about 
my dolls and my studies, in a way I detested, for a girl 
of thirteen does not consider herself by any means a 
baby. The better I came to know him the less I liked 
him, and it was all mother could do to prevent my being 
downright rude to him. 

“ I can’t help it, mother,” I said once, when she had 
been remonstrating with me on the subject. “ Fm 
sorry, but I really can’t help it at all. I don’t like Mr. 
Ripley, and I am quite sure I never shall. He is so 
patronising and silly, and he talks in such a horrid, af- 
fected voice.” 

“ I don’t suppose he can help his voice,” said mother, 


I ADVANCE IN YEARS 25 

laughing. ‘‘ Don’t you think it’s rather unfair to blame 
him for that? ” 

“Oh, yes! he can help it too,” I maintained; “he 
doesn’t always talk that way. I noticed the other night 
when Mr. Carey was here, and they were arguing about 
something, Mr. Ripley got quite angry and then he 
talked just like anyone else. I suppose he forgot to 
be affected. I hate people who pretend, and I know he 
is pretending all the time.” 

I think that at the bottom of her heart mother dis- 
liked Mr. Ripley quite as much as I did, but she was 
much too kind and good to say so. Father liked him, 
though, and was pleased by his attentions to Rose. He 
was very well off, and doing a splendid business, people 
said. Father thought him very clever, and would talk 
business with him by the hour, when he came to the 
house to dinner. He was much older than most of 
Rose’s admirers, being already past thirty, and I think 
that was one reason why she was flattered by his paying 
her so much attention. 

At last one day mother told me the wonderful news 
that Rose was engaged to be married to George Ripley. 
I noticed that her voice shook a little as she told me, 
but when I asked her if she was not very sorry, she 
tried to laugh, and said she knew she ought to be glad, 
for Rose was very happy, and father was delighted. 

“ And you must be very polite to George, Daisy, and 
congratulate him properly when he comes this evening,” 
mother finished, a little anxiously. 

I promised that I would try, though I fear it was not 
with very good grace, and wh^n George arrived I went 


26 


SILVER LININGS 


down to the parlour with as cheerful a countenance as I 
could assume, and murmured a few rather unintelligible 
words of congratulation, which, however, my brother- 
in-law elect received more graciously than they deserved. 
Indeed he was so extremely gracious, and so affection- 
ate, that I felt I detested him more than ever. He 
called me his dear little sister, and said he should always 
love me just as though he were my real brother. And 
then he kissed me, an action which I could not resent just 
then, but I afterwards gratified my spite by scrubbing 
the place vigorously with a towel, and inwardly vowing 
that he should never do it again if I could possibly 
prevent it. 

Rose really was very happy and very much in love, 
though how she could have been so is more than I have 
ever been able to comprehend. I think George was very 
fond of her, and the engagement was considered by 
everybody a very happy one. What mother’s private 
feelings on the subjectwere I have no means of knowing, 
but I noticed that she was quieter than she had used to 
be, and it was about that time that I first began to hear 
people say that her hair was beginning to turn grey. 
She was always kind and courteous to George, as indeed 
she was to everyone, and I really do think he liked and 
respected her more than he did most people. As for 
father, I had never known him so supremely happy, or 
so kind and affable before. 

Rose and George were married the next year, when I 
was fourteen, and Rose just twenty. It was a grand 
wedding, and I was one of the bridesmaids, an honour 
which filled my soul with pride. After that, things 


I ADVANCE IN YEARS 27 

settled down into their old way again, and I think I was 
happier than I had ever been in my life. Now that 
Rose was gone there were no more balls and parties, 
and mother and I were almost constantly together. 
What sweet, peaceful days those were! Mother and 
I shared the same tastes in most things, and as I grew 
older I became more companionable to her. I read to 
her, for I had learned to read very rapidly with my 
fingers, and books were still my greatest delight. We 
drove together, walked together, and discussed every 
subject in heaven and earth. Father seemed very happy 
too in those days, and I used to think he was fonder of 
me than when I was little. He was engrossed in his 
business most of the time, and in the evenings he fre- 
quently went to his club, or to big dinner parties, so that 
mother and I spent the greater part of our time alone. 
Mother had never cared for society, and in consequence 
had made very few friends. Loving her as I did, and 
being so constantly with her, I had gradually dropped 
the few girl friends I had; they had never been many. 
As a child I had never cared very much for the society 
of other children. I could not join in many of their 
games, and I often found them rough and uncongenial. 
There were a few little girls, quiet, well-behaved chil- 
dren, with whom I had been fdr a time intimate, but as 
we grew older, and found other interests and occupa- 
tions, we had gradually drifted apart. I remember 
Rose’s once speaking to mother on the subject, remark- 
ing that George thought I ought to have more com- 
panions of my own age, and not spend so much time with 
older people. How furious I was! I believe I said 


28 SILVERLININGS 

something very rude about George’s minding his own 
business, for which remark mother afterwards reproved 
me. I had no wish for other companionship; mother 
was all the world to me, and, as I believe I have said 
before, I was happier with her than with any other hu- 
man being. 

The three years which followed Rose’s marriage were 
very quiet, uneventful ones. When Rose had been 
married about a year and a half a little boy was born, 
and mother and I had a new interest in life. Rose was 
very happy; she deferred to George in everything, and 
appeared to have lost any individuality she had ever 
possessed. He was very proud of her beauty and ac- 
complishments, and even I, though personally I liked 
him no better than ever, could not help admitting that 
mother was right when she said that George certainly 
made Rose a most excellent husband. They lived in a 
small but very pretty house, and entertained a great deal. 
For the first year it seemed as if Rose didn’t care very 
much for the society of mother and me, but after her 
baby was born it was different. She was devoted to her 
little child, and her love for it seemed to make her 
gentler and sweeter than she had ever been before. She 
would bring little George over to our house, and spend 
whole days with us, and she would always send for 
mother whenever she fancied the baby was not quite up 
to the mark, getting her opinion on all subjects con- 
cerning the care and nursing of infants. I think mother 
was very happy, and I know that nothing had ever given 
me greater delight than holding my little nephew, lis- 
tening to his sweet baby cooing, and feeling his soft little 


I ADVANCE IN YEARS 29 

face and hands. Although nearly sixteen, I was in many 
respects as much of a child as ever. George occasionally 
interfered, and made unpleasant remarks, but, as a rule, 
he left us pretty much to ourselves. 

I was seventeen; a tall, lanky girl; rather shy and 
awkward, and decidedly plain. I was beginning to 
realise the fact that I was no longer a little girl. The 
consciousness of this fact made me somehow rather un- 
comfortable. I was so happy just as I was, that I could 
not bear to think of any change. There had never been 
any talk of my coming out in society, and indeed I never 
had a wish to do so. I was perfectly aware of my lack 
of good looks, and although sociable enough with people 
I liked, I had no desire for a large circle of acquaint- 
ances. Books and music were still my chief pleasures, 
and I continued to have regular lessons with a daily gov- 
erness, and mother read to me any books which I could 
not obtain to read myself. In spite of my blindness, I 
don’t think I was backward for my age, although, as I 
said before, in some things I was still a very child at 
heart. To mother I was the little girl I had always 
been, but I noticed that other people began to treat me 
differently, and I scarcely knew whether to be pleased or 
not. My life was so peaceful, so uneventful, I never 
thought of a change, until for the second time an 
event happened, which, though it seemed trifling enough 
at the time, was really the beginning of changes so 
great, so terrible, that I can scarcely bear to remember 
them, even now after all these years. 

It was a lovely afternoon in early spring, and Sophie, 
my French maid, and I, had gone out for a walk. 


30 SILVERLININGS 

Lizzie had married some years before, and Sophie now 
reigned in her stead. Sophie was a good-natured girl, 
really fond of me in her way, but rather flighty and im- 
pulsive. Mother had more than once suggested the pro- 
priety of engaging some steadier person in her place, 
but I liked Sophie, and invariably took her part on these 
occasions, and mother, who could never bear to deny 
me anything, yielded to my wishes in the matter, 
especially as Sophie was a really well-meaning girl, and 
very useful in the house. 

We had been doing some errands for mother, and 
were making our way home through the crowded streets. 
I was much interested in Sophie’s conversation, for she, 
delighted to have such a sympathetic listener, was 
favouring me with a full and detailed account of a quar- 
rel she had just had with Prosperre, the young man on 
whom she had bestowed her affections. I had heard a 
good deal about Prosperre, who was a waiter in a large 
restaurant, and being of a very sentimental disposition 
at that period of my life, I felt deeply interested in the 
affair. Sophie and Prosperre had had several little 
quarrels before, but nothing so serious as the present 
misunderstanding. 

“ He says we shall never meet again,” said Sophie, 
with an ominous tremble in her voice. “ If he keeps his 
word, he will break my heart.” 

“ Why don’t you write him and tell him you are 
sorry? ” I suggested, hopefully. 

“ It would be of no use. Ah, Mademoiselle Daisy, 
you have no idea of how stern Prosperre can be when 
he is angry. I am afraid of him, for when he is angry 


I ADVANCE IN YEARS 31 

he does not care what he does. He might even ask his 
cousin Fanchon to marry him. She is crazy about 
him, that Fanchon. She would say yes, and then where 
would I be?” 

“ But if he is that kind of a man I shouldn’t think you 
would care so much about him,” I said. “ If he really 
cared for you he wouldn’t ask someone else to 
marry him while he was still engaged to you, would 
he?” 

“ Ah, you do not understand I ” sighed Sophie. “ He 
says we are no longer engaged. He said — oh, mon 
Dieu ! what do I see ! ” 

” What ! what is it I ” I demanded in growing alarm, 
for Sophie had given a violent start, and now stood 
quite still. 

” It is he, Prosperre ! ” she gasped. “ He is over 
there, walking on the other side of the street, and 
smoking a cigar ! Oh, mon Dieu ! he is looking this 
way! He sees me! His eyes look so wild, so des- 
perate 1 Oh, what shall I do ? ” 

” Let’s go over and speak to him,” I suggested, 
visions of the luckless Prosperre seeking a watery grave 
in the lake beginning to trouble my mind. 

“ If I could but speak to him, but three words,” said 
Sophie, hesitatingly, “ I know I could explain, and all 
would be well. But no, I cannot; there are so many 
carriages. I am afraid to cross with you.” 

“ Beckon to him to come over here,” I proposed. 

“ It would be of no use; he would not come. If I 
might leave you here for one moment; see, against this 
doorway you would be quite safe, and I would not be 


32 SILVERLININGS 

gone ten seconds. Just run across the street, say three 
words to Prosperre, and come back to you. He is walk- 
ing slowly; he is looking at me. Ah, Mademoiselle 
Daisy, if I might? ” 

It was now my turn to hesitate. Well did I know 
that any such proceeding would be sure to meet with 
mother’s strong disapproval. But then, on the other 
hand, Sophie was in such trouble, and if not given this 
opportunity to explain to her lover, who knew what the 
result might be ? I was naturally good-natured, and I 
yielded. 

“ Very well,” I said, “ you may go, only come back 
just as quickly as you can.” Before I had finished speak- 
ing Sophie was gone. 

I did not feel at all comfortable standing there alone 
in the crowded street. I had never been out alone in 
my life, and I felt sure people must be staring at me 
curiously. Suppose someone we knew should happen 
to see me, and report to mother! Suppose George 
should happen to come by I How he would lecture I I 
don’t know why I should have thought of George more 
than father, except for the reason that I liked him so 
much less. I began to wish that I had not let Sophie 
go. I was sure she had been gone longer than ten 
seconds. 

Suddenly my apprehensions received a new turn, and 
this time a much more alarming one. My ear caught 
the sound of an unusual commotion; people shouting, 
running: someone cried in a frightened voice, “Look 
out I runaway horse I ” Instantly half a dozen other 
voices took up the cry. At the same moment I heard 


I ADVANCE IN YEARS 33 

the sound of horses’ hoofs approaching at a very rapid 
pace. 

I was horribly frightened. For the moment, blind 
helpless terror swept away every rational thought from 
my mind. I forgot that I was standing close to an 
open doorway, and with the sudden instinct of self- 
preservation, I began to run. 

I had not taken half a dozen steps, however, when I 
felt myself suddenly seized by a strong arm, and dragged 
without ceremony back into the doorway I had just 
quitted. 

“ Don’t be frightened,” said a kind voice, “ you are 
quite safe here.” Next moment the hoofs dashed by us, 
so close that they almost touched us. 

I was shaking so that I could scarcely stand, and the 
stranger put his arms around me, and held me firmly 
while I strove to regain my breath and my scattered 
senses. 

“ What was it? ” I gasped as soon as I could speak, 
still clinging desperately to the arm of my unknown 
protector. 

“ A pair of runaway horses. They broke loose from 
the traces and took to the sidewalk. They’re all right 
now; someone has caught them. Wouldn’t you like to 
sit down a moment? You feel faint, I am sure.” I 
acquiesced, for indeed I was half fainting with the 
terror of it all, and the stranger led, half carried me 
into the building, which fortunately happened to be a 
drug store, and placed me in a chair. 

I was immediately the centre of an excited little 
group, some of whom called me “ poor child,” and 


34 SILVERLININGS 

spoke of my wonderful escape. My new acquaintance 
held a glass of water to my lips, and in a few moments 
I began to feel quite myself once more, and was begin- 
ning to wonder what could possibly have become of 
Sophie. 

“Do you feel better now?” the gentleman asked 
anxiously. (He was a gentleman, I knew that by his 
voice.) 

“ Oh, yes, thank you ! I’m all right — only, only, 
haven’t you seen my maid? I can’t think where she can 
be.” 

“ Your maid? ” he repeated, “ I don’t know. You 
were alone when ” 

“ Yes, yes, I know,” I interrupted, hastily, beginning 
to find the situation somewhat embarrassing, “ she had 
just run across the street to speak to someone; she was 
coming right back.” 

At that moment there was a little stir among the by- 
standers, and next instant Sophie’s arms were around my 
neck. 

“ Oh, mademoiselle! oh, mon enfant! ” she sobbed, 
relapsing into broken English in her excitement. “ Oh, 
what I have suffered ! I thought that I should die when 
I saw those dreadful horses. I was near to faint; Pros- 
perre had to support me. Ah, monsieur, what do we 
not owe to you ! But for you mademoiselle would as- 
suredly have been killed.” 

“ Nonsense,” said the stranger, rather sharply, 
“ never mind about that. Take your young lady home, 
and mind you don’t leave her alone in the street again. 
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” 


I ADVANCE IN YEARS 35 

But Sophie’s gratitude was not so easily quelled. 
Finding the gentleman unapproachable, she turned to 
me. 

“It is quite true, Mademoiselle Daisy,” she persisted. 
“ The gentleman will not let me thank him, but he saved 
you.” 

“ There, there, don’t let us hear any more about that 
now,” the stranger interrupted, and this time there was 
no doubt about the sharpness of his tone. “ Can’t you 
see the poor child is nervous enough already? A nice 
person you are to be trusted with the care of her.” 

Even the voluble Sophie was silenced by this decided 
snub, but though I felt horribly embarrassed, I knew 
there was justice in all things, and I hastened to say a 
good word for my maid. 

“ It really wasn’t her fault,” I said, flushing crimson; 
“ I told her to go.” 

“ You told her to go ! ” he repeated, his voice chang- 
ing instantly. “ Well, I wouldn’t do it again if I were 
you. It isn’t very safe. Now won’t you let me call a 
cab? I am afraid you are scarcely fit to walk.” 

“ Oh, no, no ! thank you,” I exclaimed, springing to 
my feet, for a cab was the very last thing that I wanted, 
under the circumstances. “lam all right; there is noth- 
ing the matter with me. Come, Sophie.” 

I was already moving away in nervous haste, when 
I suddenly realised that the gentleman would probably 
consider me extremely ungrateful, if he really had — 
as Sophie appeared to believe — rendered me a great 
service. I turned abruptly and held out my hand. 

“ I am very much obliged to you,” I said, blushing 


36 SILVERLININGS 

and stammering painfully. “ You have been very kind ; 
I don’t know how to thank you, but I do appreciate it, I 
do indeed.” 

My new acquaintance took my outstretched hand, and 
held it for a moment. Then he turned quickly away and 
left the shop hurriedly, without another word. 

“Oh, quel beau jeune homme! ” was Sophie’s first 
ejaculation when we found ourselves once more in the 
street. “Such beautiful eyes! such kind eyes! He 
looked at you so sadly. Mademoiselle Daisy. Oh, it 
was most touching.” 

“ He had a very nice voice,” I said reflectively. “ He 
made me think of someone, but I can’t think who it was. 
Was he young, Sophie? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! quite, and so handsome. I never saw him 
before, I am quite sure.” 

I was rather glad of this assurance, for I had been 
haunted by a most uncomfortable fear that my unknown 
preserver might prove to be some acquaintance of the 
family, who would consider it his duty to inform father 
or mother of my little adventure. We walked on for a 
few moments in silence. Then Sophie inquired, rather 
timidly : 

“ Will mademoiselle tell madame of what has hap- 
pened? ” 

“ No, I think not,” I answered slowly, “ I’m afraid 
it might make her nervous, and it wouldn’t do any good, 
you know. I don’t think I ought to have let you go.” 

“ And I ought never to have gone,” murmured 
Sophie, giving my arm a penitent squeeze. “ Pros- 
perre said I did very wrong, and so did the gentleman, 


I ADVANCE IN YEARS 37 

and they were quite right. I will not do it again, but, 
ah. Mademoiselle Daisy, you are good not to tell 
madame; she would be so very angry.” 

I quite agreed with Sophie on that point, but I did 
not feel very comfortable at the thought of having a 
secret from mother. I thought a good deal about the 
adventure as we walked home and about the strange 
gentleman, who had spoken so kindly and held my hand 
so tight. I should probably have thought even more if 
something had not happened that very afternoon, which 
put the memory of all such trivial matters completely out 
of my mind, for the time at least. 


Ill 

MY FIRST SORROW 

M other had not come in when I reached 
home. I knew she was going driving with 
father, so was not surprised at her being out 
later than usual, and I went at once to my room. I 
was rather glad of the little rest before seeing mother, 
for I still felt nervous and shaken, and I was afraid she 
might notice that there was something unusual the mat- 
ter, and ask awkward questions. Mother was always 
sure to notice at once if there was the very least thing 
wrong with me. 

I had not been in my room ten minutes, however, 
when I heard the carriage stop, and a moment later 
mother’s voice called me from the foot of the stairs. 

“ Daisy, darling, are you at home? ” 

I ran down at once, and stayed with mother, as I 
generally did while she dressed for dinner. But I was 
unusually quiet, and, oddly enough, mother was very 
quiet, too. She did not ask me a single question about 
my afternoon, and seemed so preoccupied that I began 
to wonder uncomfortably whether she could possibly 
have heard of my adventure, and was vexed with me 
for not mentioning the subject at once. But this idea 
was soon dispelled, when mother, after putting away her 
outdoor things, instead of beginning to dress as usual, 
38 


MY FIRST SORROW 39 

sat down beside me on the sofa, and taking my hand in 
hers, said gently: 

“ Daisy, dear, I have something to tell you, which I 
think will surprise you very much. Where do you think 
father wants me to go with him next week? ” 

“ Where? ” I inquired eagerly. 

“ To California. He has been talking about taking 
this trip for some time, but she has only just decided 
definitely. We have neither of us ever been, you 
know, and he thinks the change will do us both 
good.” 

“ How perfectly lovely ! ” I exclaimed, rapturously. 
“ I have always thought it would be so delightful to 
travel. What day do we start, and how long shall we 
be gone? ” 

Mother was silent for a moment ; then she said, very 
sadly, but, oh ! so tenderly : 

“My darling, I have to tell you something that I am 
afraid will make you unhappy. But my little girl must 
try to be brave, and not mind any more than she can 
help. Father doesn’t think he can possibly take anyone 
but me.” 

“ Not take me with you 1 ” I exclaimed, in incredulous 
amazement. “ Go to California without me I Oh, 
mother, you wouldn’t! What should I do? What 
would become of me? ” 

“ My dear child,” said mother, trying to laugh, 
“don’t look at it in such a tragic way. We shall only 
be gone six weeks, and Rose and George will come over 
here to stay till we come back. We have just been to 
see them about it, and they are quite willing. Father 


40 SILVERLININGS 

wanted to make all the arrangements as soon as possible, 
as he is anxious to get off a week from today.” 

I was silent in sheer inability to express my feelings. 
Indeed, in that first moment, I don’t think that I did feel 
anything very keenly except surprise. Never since I 
could remember had mother and I been separated for 
more than a night or two at a time. 

The idea of our ever being parted was one that actu- 
ally had never even presented itself to me before. But 
slowly the full force of the meaning of mother’s words 
began to dawn upon me, and then I confess that my first 
inclination was to burst out crying like a silly child. But 
a moment’s reflection convinced me of the folly as well 
as the unkindness of such a proceeding. Well did I 
know that never of her own free will would mother 
have left me even for a night. It was all father’s doing, 
of course, and, after all, why should I blame him? It 
was only natural that he shouldn’t want to be bothered 
with me on such a long journey. It wasn’t as if I were 
his very own child. That last thought caused me a keen 
stab of pain, and I caught mother’s hand and held it 
tight for a moment, while I struggled hard to check my 
desire to cry. I think mother understood just how I 
felt without my saying a word, for she suddenly bent 
down and kissed me, murmuring softly, “ My own lit- 
tle Daisy, my own brave little girl ! ” 

That caress was almost too much for me, but I did 
manage to control myself, and then mother went on to 
tell me of their plans, and of how anxious father was 
that she should enjoy the trip. The Ripleys were to 
keep house for me, and she pointed out how pleasant it 


MY FIRST SORROW 41 

would be for me to have baby George to play with as 
much as I liked. And all the time, though I answered 
and asked questions, and even tried to smile, I was feel- 
ing as though a heavy load were settling down upon my 
heart, and the world had suddenly grown dark and cold. 

Just as soon as I heard father’s footstep I jumped up, 
and made some excuse for going off to my own room. 
And there I — well, never mind how I spent the next half 
hour. When I came down to dinner, I think I appeared 
much as usual. I thought father seemed somehow re- 
lieved, and his manner was more cheerful than it had 
been for some days. He was so very kind to me that at 
first I was puzzled to account for such strange incon- 
sistency, to refuse to take me to California and then to 
treat me with special attention. But I really believe it 
was because he had feared I would make a fuss, and was 
charmed to find me apparently so reasonable. 

The next few days were very sad ones for me. I was 
so unaccustomed to trouble of any kind that I scarcely 
knew how to bear it. I am so glad to remember now 
that I was almost always cheerful before mother, but she 
was necessarily very busy just then, preparing for her 
journey, and I was in consequence left more alone than 
usual. During the time when there was no one to be 
troubled by my distress, I gave way utterly to my feel- 
ings, and was more miserable than I had ever been in 
my life before. Rose once found me crying in my room, 
and she lectured me severely on my selfishness in not 
rejoicing more over the prospect of mother having such 
a delightful time. I did try to rejoice, but I think the 
rejoicing might have been more sincere if I had not 


42 SILVERLININGS 

known all the time that, at the bottom of her heart, 
mother was dreading the parting every bit as much as I 
was myself. 

One ray of comfort I had, and that was the prospect 
of mother’s letters. Dear mother, how good she was ! 
Never shall I forget the afternoon I found her strug- 
gling over my slate and “ Point Alphabet.” 

“ I was learning to write in Point, so that I can write 
you letters that you can read yourself while I am away,” 
she said in answer to my exclamation of surprise. And 
such was her patience and her love for me that she actu- 
ally did learn, notwithstanding all the other things she 
had to do, and the morning before she left brought me 
in great triumph a pretty little poem, which she had 
copied for me herself. I believe she must have sat up 
half the night to do it, for I know she was packing until 
after eleven. 

We had such a dear long talk together that last even- 
ing. Father was out, and I came and sat with her while 
she packed. Sophie was helping her, but at half-past 
nine she sent the maid away, saying the rest could wait 
until the morning. And then, sitting down beside me 
on the sofa, she drew my head down on her shoulder, as 
she used to do when I was a little girl, and we talked of 
many, many things. 

Mother seemed a little afraid that I might be vexed 
with father for not taking me, and she took great pains 
to tell me all over again about how good father had been 
to her in letting her take me when I was left alone in the 
world, and how kind and just he had been in his 
treatment of me ever since. 


MY FIRST SORROW 43 

“ Some men would have made a difference, you know, 
between you and Rose,” she said, “ but father never has. 
When he consented to my adopting you he said there 
should never be any difference, and he has always re- 
membered that promise. I know he has made his will, 
leaving you both exactly the same amount of money, and 
I am so happy about it, because you know, dear, I have 
no money of my own, and so should not be able to pro- 
vide for you as I should wish.” 

“Oh, hush, mother!” I protested, nervously; “I 
hate to have you talk about such things; please don’t.” 

“ Nonsense,” said mother, laughing softly, but draw- 
ing me a little closer, nevertheless. “ Don’t be so silly 
and fanciful, Daisy. I hope we may be together for 
many, many years, but it is only right that people should 
understand such things. It is a great comfort to me to 
feel that if anything should happen to father and me, 
you would always be provided for.” 

We were silent for a little while after that; my head 
resting on mother’s shoulder, and her hand held tight in 
mine. Out in the street a late hand-organ was grinding 
forth the dismal strains of “ Darling, I am growing 
old.” I was the first to speak. 

“ Mother,” I said, abruptly, “ does George know 
about what you have just told me? ” 

I felt mother start slightly. “ George know about 
father’s will? Why, no, dear, I don’t suppose so. 
Why do you ask ? ” 

“ Because I know George doesn’t like me, and I 
thought that might be the reason. He would want Rose 
to have everything, you know.” 


44 


SILVER LININGS 

“ What makes you think George doesn’t like you ? 
He always seems very kind to you.” 

“ Yes, I know he seems kind,” I admitted, reluctantly, 
“ but that’s just the trouble ; it’s all seeming. I can hear 
in his voice every time he speaks to me that in his heart 
he really doesn’t like me at all.” 

“ Well, Daisy,” said mother, a little gravely, “ you 
must remember that you have never been specially nice 
to George. Indeed I am sure he is a very good man, 
and would always do what was best for you. He has 
an unfortunate manner, I know, and sometimes says 
things which annoy you, but we mustn’t forget that 
he is Rose’s husband, and that she loves him very 
dearly.” 

When mother spoke in that tone I knew it was useless 
to argue with her, so, after another short silence, I began 
speaking of something else, and during the remainder of 
the evening we were very happy, in spite of the thought 
of the coming parting. 

Mother came to my room before I was dressed next 
morning, to bring me the little poem she had copied, and 
I must confess that I did break down, and clung round 
her neck, sobbing as if my heart would break. That 
was our real good-bye I knew, for later, when the actual 
parting came, and father and the Ripleys were all stand- 
ing by, I had no tears to shed, and only kissed mother 
very quietly, and promised to be as brave and cheerful 
as possible. 

I am glad to remember how kind father was to me 
that morning. He called me back as I was leaving the 
dining-room after breakfast, and putting his arms 


MY FIRST SORROW 45 

around me, drew me down on his knee ; a thing which he 
had never done since I was a little girl. 

“ You’re a good child, Daisy,” he said, affectionately, 
“ a good child to take things so cheerfully, and not make 
any fuss about mother’s going away. She hasn’t been 
very strong lately, and I didn’t want her to have any 
extra cares. That’s the reason why I decided to take 
her alone.” 

‘‘ I know,” I said, trying to speak cheerfully, and hop- 
ing father wouldn’t notice the catch in my voice; 
” mother told me. I’ll try to be good while you’re gone ; 
but I shall miss her — I mean you both — very much.” 

Father patted my cheek kindly. 

“ Yes, yes, I know you will, but you’ll have Rose and 
the little one to amuse you, and after all, two months 
isn’t a lifetime. What shall we bring you home, eh? ” 

I said if they brought themselves it would be the best 
present I could have, and then he laughed and let me 
go, but not before he had kissed me very kindly. I 
really think now that the last moment had come, he was 
half sorry he had not decided to take me after all. 

“ Good-bye, my darling; don’t forget to say your 
prayers, and remember that you will be in mother’s 
thoughts every moment while she is away.” These 
were mother’s last whispered words to me, as she drew 
me away from the others for one final embrace. 

Then father called her to go into the carriage; and 
with one more long, clinging kiss, one more clasp from 
the dear, tender arms, she was gone, and I was left 
standing alone, feeling all at once as if the world were 
a very bleak, dreary place indeed. 


IV 

THE BLOW FALLS 

I T seemed very strange and lonely to have mother 
away; even in all my sorrow at the thought of her 
going, I don’t think I at all realised how strange 
it would be. Even since I could remember, mother had 
been the central figure in my little world, round which 
my whole life had revolved. Now that this central 
figure was removed, life indeed seemed strange and 
empty, and I went about very much, as George expressed 
it, “ like a fish out of water.” 

Rose was very kind, and baby George was a great 
comfort. George even was agreeable, and actually 
took Rose and me to the theatre twice during the first 
week. But all their kindness could not lessen the dull 
ache at my heart, and mother had not been gone twenty- 
four hours before I had begun counting the days till her 
probable return. Her first letter was a great solace, and 
Rose and George both laughed at me for carrying it 
about in my hand all day, and reading it surreptitiously 
under the tablecloth at meal times. It was such a dear 
letter; telling me just the things I wanted to know, and 
ending with such precious words of love and comfort. 
Father sent kind messages, and bade mother tell me that 
I should go with them in their next trip without fail. 
George remarked that he hoped I appreciated all 

46 


47 


THE BLOW FALLS 
father’s kindness to me; an observation which caused my 
cheeks to tingle uncomfortably, for though I was quite 
accustomed by that time to the fact of being an adopted 
child, still I never could bear to have the subject talked 
about, especially by George, who had a way of saying 
things in a tone that implied infinitely more than his 
actual words. 

Mother’s letters came very regularly after that, and 
they were my one great pleasure during those weeks. 
How I read and re-read them, and what volumes I sent 
her in reply ! I had learned to use the typewriter with 
ease, and for a long time a great amusement of mine had 
been writing stories, which mother at least admired, if 
nobody else did. I had begun a specially long story in 
order to help pass away the time while mother was gone, 
and spent many hours at the typewriter, much to 
the disgust of Rose, who declared that the continual 
clicking made her nervous. I spent a good deal of time 
at the piano, too, for I was anxious to learn Beethoven’s 
“ Moonlight Sonata ” by heart, to play to mother as a 
surprise when she came home. Sophie, who since the 
day of our adventure had been more than ever devoted 
to me, did all in her power for my amusement, and 
perhaps there was some truth in George’s assertion that 
I certainly ought to be a very grateful young person; 
everyone spoiled me so outrageously. 

So the days passed, not on the whole unhappily, 
although I was often very lonely, and as the time for 
mother’s return drew nearer and nearer the ache at my 
heart grew less and less. 

They were over at last, those long, weary weeks. It 


48 SILVERLININGS 

was the end of May, and mother was coming home. 
All day I had been saying the words over and over to 
myself, “ Mother will be at home tonight! mother will 
be at home tonight! ” A telegram had come from 
father early that morning, saying that they had left 
Denver; the train would reach Chicago at half-past 
eight that evening. 

All day I hovered about, unable to settle down to any 
one thing. Rose said I drove her nearly distracted, I 
was so restless. In the morning I had a music lesson, 
and had the happiness of hearing from my teacher that 
the last movement of the Sonata was quite correct. 
After luncheon I went with Sophie for a long walk, and 
then Rose took me with her for a drive. I think in her 
heart Rose was very happy at the prospect of seeing 
mother so soon, but then Rose was never a demonstra- 
tive person. She and George and the baby were to 
return to their own home on the following day. How 
many times I wandered into mother’s room that after- 
noon, for the pleasure of feeling for myself that the 
maid had put all her things just in the way she liked to 
have them. 

At last, when I could think of nothing else to 
do, I went off to the nursery, and tried to teach baby 
George to say “ grandma,” a task which I did not find 
very easy, as he was backward about talking and had 
never yet been heard to pronounce any word except 
“ Mammam,” which Rose insisted meant “ Mamma,” 
and which the old nurse as steadily maintained was 
intended for “ Mammy,” and meant herself. 

I stayed in the nursery until the baby’s bedtime, and 


THEBLOWFALLS 49 

then I went down to dinner, where I ate absolutely 
nothing, being too excited to do anything so common- 
place as eat. Annie, whose acquaintance I had first 
made over “ The Poor Little Sweep,” and who still 
continued a member of our household, was quite dis- 
tressed at my lack of appetite, but I did not care. I was 
much too happy to care about anything just then; 
even George, though he seemed for some reason un- 
usually cross that evening, failed to ruffle me in the 
least. 

Rose was anxious to go to the station, and although 
at first George grumbled about it, he ended by consent- 
ing to take her, and they started off very soon after 
dinner. I, of course, had begged to be allowed to go, 
but George would not consent to that. He couldn’t 
stand seeing anyone make a scene at the station, he de- 
clared crossly, and I must admit I was vexed, for I do 
think I am one of the last persons in the world to make 
scenes in public. 

I was more restless than ever when George and Rose 
had left for the station. I wandered up and down 
between parlour and dining-room, trying in vain to still 
the nbrvous trembling which seemed to have seized all 
my limbs. Annie was in the pantry, washing the 
dinner dishes, and singing to herself as usual. This 
time her song was a decidedly doleful one. 

“ Ho! sailor of the sea! 

How^s my boy, my hoy?” 

“ PVhafs your hoy^s name, good wife, 

And in what ship sailed he? ” 


50 


SILVER LININGS 
“ My hoy John! 

He that went to sea! 

JVhat care I for the ship, sailor? 

My boy^s my boy to me. 

“ Sure, his ship was The Jolly Sand-piper — ” 

“ Speak low, woman, speak low. 

That good ship went down, woman, 

And every man aboard her — ” 

“ Oh, Annie! what a mournful song! ” I exclaimed, 
laughing, as I presented myself at the pantry door. 

“ Good gracious ! Miss Daisy, I didn’t see you. I 
thought you had gone upstairs. Excuse me for making 
such a noise.” 

“ Nonsense, Annie,” I returned, good-humouredly, 
“ you know I always liked your singing. Don’t you re- 
member how I used to make you sing ‘ The Poor Little 
Sweep ’ for me, and what ridiculous questions I used to 
ask? ” 

“ But that was when you was a little girl. Miss Daisy; 
you’re a young lady now.” 

“ A young lady,” I repeated slowly, “ yes, I suppose 
I must be. I shall be eighteen next month, and yet do 
you know, Annie, I don’t think I feel much older than I 
did in those days. I wonder still why ‘ the tender- 
hearted lady ’ took ‘ the poor little sweep ’ into ‘ a 
neighbour’s house ’ ; and I think I always shall. I 
suppose I shall feel more grown up some time, but just 
for tonight I can’t help wishing that I were really little 
again, so that I could jump up and down and scream 


THEBLOWFALLS 51 

with delight, as I feel like doing. Oh, Annie I I don’t 
think I was ever quite so happy in my life before.” 

“ Well, it is just lovely to have Mrs. Warren coming 
back, ain’t it?” said Annie, sympathetically. “Miss 
Rose — I should say Mrs. Ripley — is very nice in her 
way, but she can’t hold a candle to Mrs. Warren, 
though to be sure, there’s mighty few that can. And 

as for Mr. Ripley, if he ain’t the very ” 

Annie checked herself abruptly, and as a means of 
bridging over the embarrassing pause, began to sing 
again : 

“ Hoy sailor of the sea! 

How* s my boy, my hoy? ” 

“ Oh, don’t sing that horrid song any more tonight,” 
I protested, a little nervously. “ It’s so doleful, and I 
don’t feel like hearing anything that isn’t bright and gay 
tonight. I haven’t outgrown my feeling about songs, 
you see, for I can’t help thinking about that poor mother, 
and what a dreadful shock it must have been to her, 
when she really came to understand that her boy was 
drowned. I should think a shock like that would have 
killed her, shouldn’t you, Annie? ” 

“ People don’t get killed so easy,” said Annie, 
practically. “ My poor sister had an awful shock when 
her husband was brought home to her killed from falling 
off the roof he was painting.” 

“ Oh, Annie, how terrible ! What did she do? ” 

“ Well, you see, miss, there wasn’t much that she 
could do. It ’most killed her, poor thing, for she was 
that fond of Mike, and no wonder, for a better husband. 


52 SILVERLININGS 

and a more sober, industrious man never lived. But 

there was the three children to be looked after, and 

no one but her to do it, so she just had to, that’s 

all.” 

“ Poor, poor thing! ” I said; “ I don’t think I could 
have lived through it if I had been in her place. I know 
a shock like that would have killed me. It is terrible 
enough to lose those one loves after they have been ill 
for a long time, but anything sudden like that — ^yes, I 
am sure I should have died.” 

“ We never know what we’ll do till we’re tried,” 
remarked Annie, cheerfully. “ After all, my sister had 
a great deal to be thankful for. Mike was killed 
straight off, and never suffered a minute, and all her 
friends were very good to her, especially the lady she 
lived with before she was married. So she managed 
to set up a little grocery store, and she’s doing first-rate 
now. The oldest boy’s turning out a real scholar, and a 
great credit to her.” 

I left Annie to finish her dish-washing undisturbed, 
and wandered back into the parlour, where I sat down 
at the piano and began playing my very gayest pieces; 
I was much too restless and excited for “ The Moon- 
light Sonata.” I was in the middle of a waltz when the 
door bell rang sharply, but I did not pause in my play- 
ing, for I knew it was not yet time for the travellers. 
But in another moment my fingers came to a sudden 
pause, right in the middle of a bar, as my ear caught the 
sound of low, excited voices, speaking in the hall. The 
first sound w^hich had attracted my attention was a sharp 
exclamation, almost a cry, from Annie. Then followed 


THEBLOWFALLS 53 

a few low words, spoken rapidly in another voice, and 
then the parlour door was softly closed. 

I sprang to my feet; my heart beating wildly in fear 
of I knew not what. Something had happened, and 
someone was trying to keep it from me, that was my first 
thought, but even then there was no suspicion of the 
awful truth. Perhaps the house was on fire; perhaps 
there were burglars trying to break in, and Annie was 
afraid I would be frightened. How absurd Annie was I 
she forgot that I was no longer a child. 

With half a dozen quick steps I had reached the door. 
I tried to turn the handle, but, to my amazement, I found 
it was locked. Someone had turned the key on the out- 
side. With a low cry of fear, I turned and dashed 
across the room to the folding doors leading into the 
dining-room, overturning a table in my haste. But it 
was only to find those doors also closed and locked. 
Then my self-control gave way utterly, and I beat upon 
the door with my hands, crying loudly for Annie, 
Sophie, anyone, to let me out. 

It could not have been more than two minutes, though 
to me, in my nervous excitement, it seemed like hours, 
before I heard hurrying footsteps, and the key was 
quickly turned in the lock. 

“What is it? What’s the matter?” I cried, 
stretching my hands out in a wild, helpless way, and 
longing, oh, so ardently ! to pierce the darkness ; to see 
who it was that had entered. 

“ Hush, Daisy, my poor child! Don’t be so excited. 
I will tell you everything, only you must come and sit 
down first, and try to listen quietly.” 


54 


SILVER LININGS 

“ George,” I gasped in a hoarse whisper, “ why have 
you come back so soon ? Where’s Rose ? Oh, George ! 
where’s mother? ” 

I would have pushed past him, but he put his arm 
around me and held me back. I think I struggled feebly, 
but he was so much stronger than I, and a strange faint- 
ness seemed to be creeping over me. He drew me to 
the sofa, and made me sit down; still keeping his arm 
around me. I tried to speak, but my lips felt hot 
and dry, and no sound came from them. 

“ Daisy,” said George, speaking in a tone I had never 
heard from him before; a tone so full of horror, and yet 
of compassion, that it almost prepared me for his words 
before he uttered them. “ Daisy, something very sad 
has happened; something very terrible. You must try 
and be brave, for Rose’s sake, for all our sakes. There 
may be a mistake; things may not be as bad as we fear; 
but there has been an accident, a terrible railway acci- 
dent. The train from Denver went off the track over an 
embankment. A great many people have been hurt, and 
we think — we have heard — that your father and mother 
— oh, Daisy, my child, I can’t tell you; it is horrible. 
But for Rose’s sake, try to be brave; try to bear it.” 


V 

I INCUR George's displeasure 


M ademoiselle daisy!’' 

No reply. 

“ Mademoiselle Daisy. Oh, if you would 
but take this nice soup 1 ” 

Sophie’s voice was broken and pleading, but the sound 
produced no effect upon me. I heard it, as I had heard 
every other sound for the past four days, with an almost 
preternatural clearness, but it quite failed to arouse my 
benumbed faculties. I only moved my head slightly on 
the pillow, and uttered a faint moan. 

Sophie bent over me, and softly stroked my hair. 

“ Do try to take it, the good soup. Mademoiselle 
Daisy. You have tasted nothing all day.” 

“ I don’t want anything,” I muttered, “ I only want 
to be left alone. Can’t you go away and leave me alone, 
Sophie.” 

“ I would, mademoiselle, indeed I would,” said 
Sophie, beginning to cry. “Heaven knows I would not 
trouble you for all the world, but the doctor charged 
me to see that you eat. If you do not eat, you will be 
very ill.” 

“I don’t care; I hope I shall be; then perhaps I 
shall die. Please go away, Sophie.” 

Sophie turned away with a sigh. I suppose she was 
in despair, poor soul. This was the fourth day that I 
55 


5^ SILVERLININGS 

had lain there, in the same dull, heart-broken stupor. 
I did not cry; I did not even speak, except when directly 
addressed; I was simply stunned. I had never left my 
room since they had carried me to it on that awful night, 
and yet I knew more of what had been going on, and still 
was going on in the house, than anyone supposed. I 
knew that the funeral was over; I knew that I should 
never hear dear mother’s voice, or feel her kisses again ; 
and yet the knowledge did not kill me. I was too utterly 
crushed to feel anything very keenly as yet. I had never 
shed one tear; that was what frightened Rose and Sophie 
so much. They both cried unceasingly; Rose even 
hysterically; but their grief did not move me. I felt 
in a dim way as if I had lost all power of feeling, and 
had turned into stone. 

I heard Sophie set down her cup, and begin moving 
softly about the room; setting things in order, and 
pausing every few moments to blow her nose. When 
she had finished all she had to do, she sat down in the 
rocking chair, and began to rock. I could hear the 
creaking of the old chair; the same in which mother used 
to sit by my bedside and tell me stories before I went to 
sleep, when I was a very little child. The thought of 
Sophie sitting in that chair roused a sudden feeling of 
fierce pain. I lifted my head from the pillow. 

“ Go away, Sophie, I must be alone. Can’t you 
understand that I must be alone? ” 

“ But the doctor said began Sophie, humbly. 

“ Never mind what the doctor said. I tell you to go 
away. I don’t mean to be unkind, Sophie, but you must 
leave me alone.” 


57 


GEORGE 'S DISPLEASURE 

Sophie rose obediently. 

“ If mademoiselle would only take the soup first, I 
will go away then, I promise I will.” 

“ You can leave it on the table, and if I want it I shall 
know where to find it.” 

“ But it will be cold, mademoiselle,” urged Sophie. 
“ If you would but try.” 

“ Give it to me, then,” I cried, impatiently; starting 
up in bed, and stretching out my hands. 

Sophie brought the cup, and I drained the contents 
without another word. It was the first food I had 
tasted that day, and every swallow seemed to choke me, 
but I felt that it was the only way to get rid of Sophie, 
and my one desire — my one craving — was to be alone. 

“ Now you will go,” I said, sinking back on my pillow 
once more, when I had swallowed the last drop of soup. 

“ Yes, mademoiselle, but it is yet very early; not yet 
eight o’clock. I will go down to my dinner now, and 
later, at about half-past nine, I will come back, and help 
mademoiselle prepare for the night. A cup of tea, and 
some nice toast. Mademoiselle will like them then, 
n’est-ce pas? ” 

I made no answer, but turned my face to the wall, 
and, with another sigh, and a final effort to smooth the 
bedclothes, Sophie departed, closing the door behind 
her. 

It is strange how a trifle, a word, a touch, even a 
sound, can sometimes break down barriers which noth- 
ing else can penetrate. For four whole days I had lain 
there like a marble statue. Kindness and sympathy 
had been powerless to rouse me, but the sound of that 


58 SILVERLININGS 

old creaking rocker had touched a chord which nothing 
else had touched. No sooner had Sophie left the room 
than I crept softly out of bed, and, groping my way to 
the old chair, dropped down on my knees beside it, and 
laying my cheek against the warm plush cushion, I gave 
way to the first violent outburst of grief since the news 
had come which changed my whole future life, and 
turned me in one short hour from a careless, light-hearted 
child to a lonely, desolate woman. I believe that out- 
burst saved me from a serious illness. 

When Sophie came back more than a hour later, I was 
still lying on the floor on the same spot, with my head 
resting against the old chair, and a little blue shawl, 
that mother had crocheted for me, clasped tight in my 
arms. Sophie uttered a litle cry of dismay, and ran to 
lift me up, but when I raised my face I think she must 
have seen a change in it. 

“ I’m sorry I’ve been so cross to you, Sophie,” I said, 
gently, holding out my hand to her. “ I didn’t mean to 
be cross, but — but I don’t think I quite knew what I was 
doing. Mother was never cross, and she was very brave 
too. She had trouble, Sophie, you know. She told me 
once that she thought her heart was breaking when her 
little boy died; that was just before I came to her; but 
I am sure she was never hard and wicked, as I have been, 
and I do want to be a little bit like her, if I can.” 

Poor Sophie ! she was down on her knees beside me, 
sobbing piteously, and covering my face and hands with 
kisses. I felt all at once very weak and helpless ; I was 
even glad to be taken care of. I let Sophie do what she 
would with me, not even refusing the tea and toast she 


GEORGE'S DISPLEASURE 59 

brought; and she did not leave me until she had done all 
in her power for my comfort. She left me comfortably 
tucked up in bed, with a promise to try to sleep. 

But it is one thing to promise, and another thing to 
keep one’s promise. I soon found that sleep, for the 
present at least, was an impossibility. Now that my 
grief had at last found vent, it was not so easily checked, 
and I cried and cried until it seemed that my very heart 
would break, with the force of my sobs. But the cold, 
hard bitterness of my grief was over; I began to re- 
member, as I lay alone in the darkness, how kind every- 
one had been to me. There was Rose, poor Rose, her 
sorrow must be almost as great as mine, though she had 
her husband and child to comfort her. Mother was 
very fond of Rose ; she would not like to know how cold 
and unresponsive I had been to her. Rose had been very 
loving, very tender to me, and I had met all her kindness 
with the same cold silence; the silence of utter despair. 

Suddenly a great longing to be with Rose — to hear 
her voice, to feel the touch of her soft little hands — took 
possession of me. It was still early, the clock had only 
just struck ten. Rose had probably not yet gone to bed. 
If I could talk to her for a little while, just tell her how I 
longed for her love, I thought I might be able to 
sleep. 

I rose softly and, putting on my wrapper and slippers, 
opened the door and stole down the stairs to my 
sister’s room. I found that I was very weak and giddy ; 
so weak that I was obliged to hold fast to the banisters, 
to save myself from falling. It was the first time that 
I had left my room in five days, and I felt as one recover- 


6o 


SILVER LININGS 


ing from a long illness might feel, when first attempting 
to walk. 

At the foot of the stairs I paused, uncertain which 
way to go. The front room on the second floor was the 
library; the back one was Rose’s bedroom. It had been 
mother’s room, but Sophie had casually mentioned the 
fact that Rose had been taken there that night, when she 
was brought back from the station, and had remained 
there ever since. The library door was partly open, 
and as I stood there, hesitating, I heard the sound of 
rustling papers. Someone was evidently in the library, 
either reading or writing. Probably it was George. 
Still I hesitated for a moment, unwilling to present my- 
self in my wrapper, with my hair hanging down my back, 
without knowing for certain who the occupant of the 
room might be. While I waited I heard the person, 
whoever it was, rise hastily, walk rapidly across the 
room to where I knew the fireplace was, strike a match. 
There was no fire in the grate, I was sure, for the night 
was oppressively warm, but the next moment I heard a 
roaring sound in the chimney ; something was evidently 
being burned. Feeling sure that no one, not a member 
of the family, would be likely to be burning papers or 
anything else, in the library fireplace, I ventured to push 
the door a little farther open. 

“ Rose,” I called softly; “ Rose, are you there? ” 

There was a sharp, angry exclamation, and the next 
instant my arm was seized in a grip that was almost 
painful, while George’s voice demanded in a tone of 
unmistakable annoyance : 

“ Daisy, what on earth are you doing down here at 


George's displeasure 6i 

this hour of the night? What is that Sophie thinking 
of, to let you go wandering about the house in this way 
by yourself? ” 

“ I came down to speak to Rose,” I faltered, begin- 
ning to tremble. George’s manner frightened me, it 
was so strange and agitated. “ Sophie has nothing to 
do with it, she has gone to bed. I always go about the 
house by myself.” 

“ Rose has been in bed this hour and more,” said 
George, roughly. “I can’t have her disturbed; what do 
you want with her? ” 

“ Nothing — oh, it doesn’t matter. It will do in the 
morning,” I said, wearily turning away, but George 
was evidently still unsatisfied. 

“ Is there anything that I can do for you? ” he in- 
quired, in an altered tone. “ I didn’t mean to speak 
sharply, but you startled me suddenly when I was very 
busy, and, and — well, that’s all.” 

I told him that I did not want anything, and that I 
would go back to my room at once, without disturbing 
Rose. He went with me to the foot of the stairs, and 
bade me good-night kindly enough, but it struck me that 
he seemed unusually nervous, and I could not help won- 
dering, after I had gone back to bed, why I had 
startled him so much, and what he could possibly have 
been burning in the library grate. 

I came downstairs again the next day, and tried to 
take up the broken threads of life once more. I am not 
going to describe that time, it was too terrible, and I 
often wondered in the dreary days which followed, why 
it was that I did not die in my misery and loneliness. It 


62 SILVERLININGS 

seemed impossible that I should go on living just the 
same, with that awful pain in my heart, but I was very 
young and strong, and death does not always come when 
it is most wanted. 

It was one evening about a week later that I first 
learned what my future was to be. Rose and I were 
together in the library; she lying on the sofa, I 
sitting beside her, smoothing her forehead ; a thing she 
had always liked to have me do when her head ached. 
Rose had been very kind and gentle in those sad days. 
George had been engaged with a gentleman downstairs; 
Rose said she believed it was father’s lawyer; but just 
as I had suggested that we should go to bed, we heard 
the front door close, and in a few moments George came 
into the room. 

I got up promptly, and was bidding them good-night, 
when George politely requested me to sit down again. 

“ There is something I want to say to you, Daisy,” he 
said, speaking in a very cheerful tone, though I could 
hear that it was with an effort. “ I didn’t want to 
trouble you at first, but there are some things which it is 
only right that you should know.” 

I sat down again meekly and folded my hands. I 
had no desire to contradict George any more. I was so 
sad and lonely; I longed that everyone should love me, 
even he. George cleared his throat several times, and 
fussed with some papers on the table, before he went on. 
Rose leaned over and took my hand in hers. 

“ It is about yourself, Daisy, that I want to speak,” 
my brother-in-law began: “You know, my dear, that 
neither Rose nor I intend that you shall ever feel the 


George's displeasure 63 

least difference in anything, but it is only right that you 
should understand, as you are no longer a child, that 
you are entirely dependent upon us for — well, for every- 
thing.” 

I gave a violent start. 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” I said innocently. 

“ You don’t know what I mean? Surely you 
understand.” George spoke sharply, he was evidently 
vexed. “ You surely know that Mr. Warren was not 
really your father. You could not suppose that he 
would provide for you in the same way that he would 
for Rose, his own daughter.” 

I felt the hot, indignant colour rising in my cheeks, 
but, with an effort, I controlled my voice sufficiently to 
say, with something like calmness : 

” But father did provide for me just the same as for 
Rose. Mother told me so.” 

There was a moment of dead silence. Rose stroked 
my hand softly, but did not speak. Then George said 
in a voice that startled me, it was so cold and hard : 

“If your mother told you any such thing, she was 
entirely mistaken. Mr. Warren has left no will, 
and all his money naturally goes by law to his own 
child.” 

“ But he did make a will,” I persisted; “ mother told 
me he did. And she said she was so happy about it, 
because she had no money to leave me herself. She told 
me the very night before she — oh, mother, mother I ” 
and, my self-control giving suddenly away, I burst into 
a passion of tears. 

Rose put her arm around me, and drew me close, but 


64 SILVERLININGS 

George’s voice sounded even colder and harder than 

before. 

“ He may have made such a will — indeed, there is 
every reason to suppose that he did, for Mr. Manning, 
the lawyer, remembers drawing it up; but it is equally 
certain that he must have destroyed it, for it is nowhere 
to be found among his papers.” 

I said nothing, but pressed my cheek against Rose’s. 
I was such a child; I don’t think that, at that first 
moment, the faintest conception of what this fact might 
mean to my life, once occurred to me. 

“I don’t care about the money,” I said, drearily, after 
a little. “ I am glad for Rose to have it. Only — only, 
I was glad to have mother so pleased.” 

“ You shall never know any difference, Daisy, dear,” 
whispered Rose; “ everything will be just the same as it 
always has beqn.” 

It never occurred to me that I ought to be grateful ; 
I had never as yet conceived the possibility of things 
being any different. I knew it always annoyed George 
to see me cry, and I felt that I must have my cry out 
by myself. So I jumped up hastily, and after giving 
Rose an affectionate kiss, turned to leave the room. At 
the door, however, George called me back. 

“Have you nothing to say to me, Daisy?” he in- 
quired, in a rather disagreeable tone. 

“ Nothing to say — oh, yes, George! good-night.” 

“ Doesn’t it strike you as rather an ungrateful girl, 
not to have a word of thanks for us after all we have 
promised to do? ” 

I stood quite still for a moment, as if rooted to the 


George's displeasure 65 

spot. I realised all at once, in one dreadful flash, that 
this thing did mean something to me; something I had 
never even dreamed of before. To be under obliga- 
tions to George; to owe everything to George; George, 
who never liked me ; who had always regarded me as an 
unwelcome interloper! No, I could not, the thought 
was too terrible. But then came another thought, 
bringing a faint ray of comfort. 

“The money isn’t yours,” I said, abruptly; “it is 
Rose’s. I don’t so much mind owing things to Rose.” 

“ Well, of all the impertinent, ungrateful little ” 

began George, angrily, but Rose cut him short. 

“ No, no, George, please,” she said, rising quickly, 
and coming over to my side. “ Don’t tease her to- 
night; she hasn’t the very least idea what she is saying. 
Good-night, Daisy, dear, don’t bother about anything; 
it’s all right, of course. George doesn’t mean to be 
cross, but he has had so much on his mind lately. You 
had better go to bed now ; you’ll feel so much stronger, 
and better able to understand things in the morning.” 

She almost pushed me out of the room in her hurry 
and agitation, and I, only too glad to escape, fled away 
upstairs to my own room, where finding myself alone, I 
threw myself upon the bed, moaning and sobbing in 
anguish almost too intolerable to be borne. 

“ Oh, mother, mother! ” I cried, stretching out my 
arms in my desolation; “ come back to me, mother! I 
can’t live without you. It’s too hard, too cruel ! Oh, 
mother, come back.” 


VI 

I LEARN MORE OF MY FAMILY HISTORY 

R ose, do you suppose there is any possibility 
of my ever having anything done for my 
-eyes?” 

” Good gracious, no ! of course not, child. What- 
ever put such an idea into your head? ” 

Rose and I were sitting together in her room; she 
sewing, I reading. That is I had been reading, but for 
the past ten minutes my hands had been resting idly on 
the page before me, while my thoughts had been 
busy with many things. Outside, the rain was 
dashing against the window-panes. It was November 
now, and six long months had passed since mother went 
away, never to come back any more. What those 
months had been to me, only God knew. I cannot 
write about that time even now. Suffice it to say, I 
was no longer a child; I never could be a child again. 
I still lived on in what had once been my home, but 
George and Rose had come there to live, having rented 
their own house, and it was not really home any more. 

” I don’t know,” I said, slowly, in answer to Rose’s 
question, “ I was only thinking how beautiful it would 
be if I could be made to see. Then perhaps I could do 
something to support myself.” 

” You never used to seem to mind about not seeing,” 
Rose said, a little uneasily. 


66 


MORE FAMILY HISTORY 67 

“ No, I don’t think I did — at least not much, but it’s 
different now. I’m older, for one thing. Blind people 
are sometimes cured, you know.” 

“ You never could be,” said Rose, decidedly. “ I 
should think you would understand that yourself. You 
surely know how it happened — how you came to be 
blind, I mean? ” 

“ No,” I said, somewhat startled, “ I never knew. I 
suppose I thought I was born so. I don’t believe I 
ever used to think much about it; it seemed so natural 
that I should be blind.” 

“ Do you mean to say you never heard — that mother 
never told you about your brother? ” 

There was incredulity, as well as surprise, in Rose’s 
tone. 

“ My brother,” I repeated, in growing astonishment, 
“ I knew I had a brother, but he died long ago, when I 
was a baby. He was drowned. That is all I ever 
heard about him.” 

“ And you never knew that it was all his fault; that 
he put out your eyes? ” 

“No. Oh, Rose! You don’t mean it; it can’t be 
true.” 

“ Yes, of course, it’s true,” said Rose, sharply. “ I 
thought of course you knew about it years ago, but I 
suppose mother was afraid it might make you unhappy.” 

“ Tell me all about it, all you know.” 

“ Well, you needn’t get so excited about it. It 
happened ages and ages ago, when you were not much 
more than a baby. I never knew any of the details 
myself until lately. I always knew it had happened, 


68 SILVER LININGS 

ever since I was a little girl. I think I heard someone 
talking about it before you came, but mother forbade 
my ever mentioning the subject to anyone, and she was 
so terribly solemn about it I didn’t dare disobey her. 
But of course I supposed she had told you about it, as 
soon as you were old enough to understand.” 

“ But, how — how did it happen? What did he 
do ? ” I inquired, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. 

“He shot you. Oh, he didn’t mean to, of course; 
you needn’t look so shocked. It was an accident; he 
disobeyed his father, and took his gun out when he was 
supposed to be taking care of you, while the nurse was 
laid up with a toothache. He meant to shoot a duck, 
or a bird, or something, but you got in the way, and 
were hit instead. It’s a most disagreeable story, alto- 
gether; I don’t like to talk about it.” 

“ Mother said my brother had a quarrel with father, 
and ran away to sea.” 

“ Well, so he did. Your father was terribly angry 
about what had happened. I suppose there was some 
dreadful scene, and your brother thought the best thing 
he could do was to take himself out of the way as soon 
as possible. Poor boy! it was a very sad affair alto- 
gether. The ship caught fire, and almost everyone on 
board was lost. He was such a handsome fellow, 
mother said, and I am sure he must have been, from his 
picture. I believe your father never got over the loss.” 

“ His picture,” I said eagerly. “ Where did you 
ever see his picture? ” 

“ Oh, I found it among some of mother’s things. 
She was very fond of him, you know. There was a 


MORE FAMILY HISTORY 69 

letter, too, written just before he ran away. It was 
very sad.” 

“ What did you do with it — the letter, I mean? ” I 
inquired, with breathless interest. 

“ I put it away in my desk. I thought you might like 
to hear it sometime, and you know I have a fancy for 
keeping old letters.” 

“ Will you read it to me, now? ” 

Rose hesitated for a moment. 

“ I don’t know that I ought, so long as mother never 
did. It’s dreadfully sad, and it might make you morbid 
and unhappy. After all, it happened so many years 
ago, and the poor boy has been dead so long.” 

“ Please read it to me. Rose,” I pleaded. “ Please 
do ; I must hear it, indeed I must.” 

I clasped my hands imploringly, and Rose was too 
good-hearted to refuse any longer. She went to her 
desk, and, after searching about for a few moments, re- 
turned with the letter in her hand. 

“ It’s rather hard to read,” she said, “ it’s such a 
scrawl, and so horribly blotted. Your brother was only 
fourteen, you know, and I suppose he was in such dread- 
ful trouble when he wrote it that he didn’t care how it 
looked.” 

And then Rose begun to read in her slow, languid, 
rather unemotional voice ; 

“ Locust, Long Island, August 4, 1870. 

“ Dearest Auntie Madge : 

“ Something terrible has happened. You will hear 
all about it from father and the rest, of course, but I feel 


70 SILVERLININGS 

I must tell you myself before anyone else does. I have 
killed little Daisy, or if I have not killed her, I have 
done something even worse, for they say she will never 
see again. Both her pretty eyes are gone. 

“ It was all my fault; my wicked carelessness; and I 
have broken my promise to mother. You know the day 
before she died, she called me to her, and put the baby 
into my arms. She was such a mite then ; only a week 
old; and made me promise I would always take care of 
her, and be good to her. I did mean to keep that promise, 
God knows I did. Aunt Margaret. You know how 
fond the little thing was of me, for I wrote you all about 
it, and I — well, I just worshipped her, but I can’t write 
about that now; I shall go mad if I do. 

“ It all happened yesterday afternoon. I was going 
duck-shooting; you know father gave me a gun this 
summer; and when he gave it to me he made me promise 
solemnly never to fire it anywhere near the nurse and 
baby. I meant to keep that promise too, just as I did 
the other. I went into the nursery a minute, before 
starting out with my gun, and I found poor old Nanna 
suffering from an awful toothache. She asked me if I 
would take the baby out for a while, and at first I said 
no, but when the little tot put out her arms in that coax- 
ing way she had, and said, ‘ Pease take baby, Tarlie, 
pease do,’ I just couldn’t resist her, and I carried her 
off. I knew I had no business to take my gun, but I 
thought no one would know, for father had gone to 
New York, and it didn’t seem poosible that any harm 
could come of it. 

“We went down to the pond, and for a while I played 


MORE FAMILY HISTORY 71 

with the little thing, and everything was all right. 
Then suddenly I happened to look up, and I saw a big 
duck flying right over the water. I don’t remember 
what happened after that; I went out of my mind, I 
think. I know I lifted my gun from the grass beside 
me, and loaded It, telling the baby to keep out of the 
way, and that she should see something pretty. I for- 
got how little she was, and that of course she couldn’t 
understand. I forgot everything in the world, except 
that I wanted to shoot that duck. The next minute I 
had fired, and then I looked. The duck was gone, but 
the baby — oh, I can’t write about it. They say she will 
probably die, and if she doesn’t she will be blind. Oh, 
Aunt Margaret, think of it. She will never see the sun, 
or flowers, or anything again. 

“ I won’t ask you to forgive me. You can’t of course, 
any more than I can forgive myself, or than she could, 
if she lives to grow up. Father says he can never for- 
give me; he says he wishes he might never have to see 
me again. You know how he adored her. He always 
wanted a girl, and she was so pretty. I’m glad mother 
isn’t here, it would kill her. Oh, Auntie Madge I you 
don’t think she knows, do you ? I couldn’t bear to think 
that mother knew how I had broken my promise, and 
what had happened to her little girl. 

“ I am going away; I don’t much care where, so long 
as it is far off, where none of you will ever have to see me 
again. If I wasn’t afraid. I’d drown myself in the 
Sound. If she lives, she’ll grow up to hate me, and the 
very thought of me will be dreadful to her, I know. 
But I won’t trouble her ever, nor anyone else either. 


SILVER LININGS 


72 

I’ll go away somewhere, where none of you shall ever 
hear of me again. 

“Good-bye, dear Auntie Madge. You were always 
next to mother. I wish I could see you once more, and 
hear you say something kind, but you couldn’t now of 
course. 

“ Your Affectionate Nephew, 

“ Charlie Warren.’" 

“ It’s a dreadfully sad letter,” said Rose, rather 
tremulously. “ Poor little fellow, his heart must have 
been almost broken. Oh, Daisy, don’t cry so I I wish 
I hadn’t read it to you.” 

But I was past the power of speech just then, the tears 
were streaming down my cheeks, and I was sobbing as 
if my heart would break. 

“ Oh, poor, poor boy! ” I cried, hysterically. “ Oh, 
how could he think it? Oh, how could he? ” 

“ Think what? ” demanded Rose, in evident astonish- 
ment. 

“ That I would — oh, that I could grow up to hate 
him. And now he’s dead, and he’ll never know.” 

“ Never know what? ” inquired Rose, still much per- 
plexed. 

“ How sorry I am — ^how terribly, terribly sorry, and 
how fully and really I forgive him. Oh, Rose, think 
how he must have felt when he wrote that letter I And, 
after all, it was only an accident; it might have happened 
to anyone.” 

Rose leaned forward, and laid her hand softly on my 
head. 


MORE FAMILY HISTORY 73 

“ You’re a good little soul, Daisy,” she said, un- 
steadily; “you always were. I never thought you’d 
take it like this. Of course it was an accident, but 
still — well, I don’t know, but if it had happened to me, 
I don’t think — I — I don’t really think I could have for- 
given him. Now do stop crying, there’s a dear. I 
never would have read that letter to you if I had sup- 
posed you would have taken it so much to heart. Oh, 
there’s the door bell. Who can it be this stormy morn- 
ing? Oh, I believe it’s Gertie Lee. I remember she 
said she was coming over today. She wants me to 
show her how to crochet baby socks. Don’t run away; 
won’t you stay and see her? ” 

But I had already risen. I felt that I could not 
stay and talk to Gertrude Lee, or anyone else just 
then. 

“ May I have the letter. Rose? ” I asked, hurriedly. 
“ I should like to have it to keep.” 

“ Yes, of course, if you want it, but you can’t read it 
yourself. You’d better let me keep it, or else tear it up. 
It will only make you unhappy if you sit brooding over 
it, when you’re by yourself.” 

But I persisted, and Rose good-naturedly yielded; 
putting the letter into my hands, and bidding me be a 
good girl, and not worry about things. I took it thank- 
fully, and escaped by one door, just as Gertrude Lee, 
loud-voiced and cheerful, entered by the other. 

When I reached my own room I sat down on the sofa, 
still holding the letter in my hand. I did not cry any 
more ; tears did not come so easily as they had in the old 
happy days when I cried over my story books. I had 


74 SILVERLININGS 

learned more than one lesson in self-control during the 
past few months. I wanted to be alone, to think of the 
strange, sad story that Rose had told me. I could not 
remember my brother in the least. I had not even 
known of his existence when I was a child. And yet 
I felt all at once strangely desolate; as if I had lost a 
great deal. I thought about my parents — my own 
parents, I mean — more than I had ever done in my life 
before. I wondered what kind of a man my brother 
would have been if he had lived. Would he have been 
kind to me; taken care of me now when I was so lonely 
and sad? He Avould have been sorry for me, I was sure, 
and would not have disliked me and thought of me as a 
burden, as George did. Perhaps he would even have 
loved me, and, oh ! I wanted love so much in those days. 
Rose loved me in a way, but her whole heart was bound 
up in her husband and baby boy. 

I had plenty of time to think in undisturbed solitude. 
I was seldom disturbed in my room any more, and I 
spent many hours of each day there alone with my books 
and my own thoughts. Good little Sophie, who had 
tried so hard to cheer my loneliness at first, was married, 
and there was no one to take her place. Three months 
before, she had told me, with floods of tears, that “ dear 
Prosperre ’’ would not be kept waiting any longer; she 
must decide, once for all, whether she would marry him 
or not. I really think Sophie’s heart was torn between 
her love for Prosperre and her love for me, but of course 
Prosperre triumphed in the end, and now Sophie was 
established in a comfortable little home of her own, and 
was as happy as the day was long. There had been 


75 


MORE FAMILY HISTORY 
some faint murmurs from Rose about getting me 
another maid, but George said he didn’t see any reason 
why the baby’s nurse couldn’t look after me, just as well 
as not. So Rose was silenced, and after that I took my 
daily exercise walking beside my nephew’s baby carriage 
Hannah, little George’s nurse, was a good old soul, and 
did what she could for me, but she was very ignor- 
ant, and as for reading aloud to me, that was a 
thing not even to be thought of. Even my old standby, 
Annie, had gone away. She and George had had an 
altercation very soon after Sophie left, which had ended 
in the departure of the good-natured Irish girl, 
declaring “ there was just no living with that Mr. 
Ripley at all.” A smart butler now reigned in Annie’s 
stead, and though Rose was very well satisfied with the 
change, I could not help missing our old waitress very 
much. 

I sat on the sofa thinking for a long time, and then I 
rose and put the old letter tenderly away in a box, 
among the few treasures I possessed. It was many 
months before I spoke of the contents of that letter to 
anyone, but I never forgot it, and it was often in my 
thoughts during the sad days which followed. 

Gertrude Lee stayed to luncheon that day, and it was 
while at the luncheon table that she said something 
which first opened my eyes to a new possibility. Ger- 
trude was a jolly, talkative young matron, whom on the 
whole I liked, although I could not deny the fact 
that she was frequently rather lacking in tact. She was 
in the midst of an amusing anecdote about her recent 
experience at a Methodist camp-meeting, when she sud- 


76 SILVERLININGS 

denly broke off to remark, with characteristic blunt- 
ness — 

“ And what will you do this winter, Daisy, if Rose 
and Mr. Ripley go to Europe? ’’ 

“Go to Europe?” I repeated, stupidly. “Why, 
they are not going to Europe ! ” 

“ No, of course not,” Rose interposed, in a tone of 
some annoyance. “ How can you jump at conclusions 
so quickly, Gertie? I only said that George had sug- 
gested — merely suggested the plan.” 

“Oh, well! I’m very sorry if I’ve said anything I 
ought not. I thought from what you said it was about 
as good as settled, and of course I didn’t know Daisy 
hadn’t heard. Well, if you do go you’re in luck, my 
dear, that’s all I can say. I know I’d give everything 
I possessed in the world — not that that’s much to boast 
of — if only Bob would take baby and me.” 

Rose changed the subject by asking her friend if she 
would have another piece of chicken, and nothing more 
was said about Europe. But Gertrude’s words had set 
me thinking. I remembered that once or twice lately 
when I had come suddenly upon Rose and George to- 
gether, I had found them talking in low voices, and they 
had immediately stopped on my entrance, and begun 
speaking on some ordinary subject. I knew Rose was 
not always quite truthful; she had always been fond of 
making little mysteries, even when a young girl, and she 
had seldom discussed her little plans and hopes with any- 
one, not even with mother herself. Still it hurt me to 
think that Rose should have a secret from me just now, 
when we had been so much more to each other than ever 


MORE FAMILY HISTORY 77 

before. Did she think me such a baby that I could not 
hear of her going away without making a fuss? I 
should miss her, of course, and I should miss baby 
George, too, who was growing so cunning, and I was 
sure he was beginning to be really fond of me. But 
it was only natural that George and Rose should travel, 
and I could not expect them to remain in Chicago all 
their days, now that there was no lack of money, and I 
knew they had been anxious for a long time to go 
abroad. 

I thought a good deal on the probability of Gertrude’s 
hint being true. I even planned how I should like to 
spend the winter if George and Rose really went away, 
for of course they would never dream of taking me with 
them. I was sure my dear old music-teacher. Miss 
Williams, would be willing to take me to board with her. 
She and her sister had a little flat, and sometimes took 
young girls to board for the winter. Of course Rose 
would let me have a maid; possibly I might be able to 
secure Annie, if she were not already settled in a place; 
and I could study hard at my music all winter. Music 
was my one great comfort in those days. Altogether, 
the prospect did not look so very gloomy, and I decided 
to wait patiently for any developments which time might 
reveal. 


VII 


I LOSE MY TEMPER, AND SAY WHAT I HAVE AFTER- 
WARDS CAUSE TO REGRET. 

S EVERAL days had passed, and I heard nothing 
more on the subject of Rose’s going abroad. I 
was beginning to think it had been merely a 
chance remark of Gertrude Lee, when something hap- 
pened which for the time put even that thought out of 
my mind. 

I was sitting at the piano late one afternoon, playing 
over some of my old pieces, and trying to forget present 
sorrows in the memories of other days, when the door 
bell rang, and Mr. Manning, who had been father’s 
lawyer, walked unceremoniously into the parlour. 

Mr. Manning was an old friend of the family, who 
had known me from a child. He was a stout, jolly old 
bachelor of sixty, and he and father had been college 
chums. He had not come to the house very often 
during the past few months, and I had an idea that he 
and George were not specially good friends. 

“ Your young man told me the Ripleys were .out,” he 
explained, shaking hands with me very kindly, “ but I 
heard the piano, so I thought I’d just step in for a few 
moments and ask you to play a tune.” 

I smiled, well pleased, for I knew Mr. Manning was 
very fond of music, and I had often played for him 
78 


ILOSEMYTEMPER 79 

when he came to dinner with father. He drew a chair 
to the fire and made himself comfortable, and I played 
two or three pieces that I thought he would like. He 
thanked me, but I thought he seemed rather preoccupied, 
and he did not ask for nearly so many pieces as usual. 
So I soon left the piano, and drew up a chair beside him 
by the fire. 

“ It’s a long time since you and I have had a cosy 
chat together, isn’t it, Daisy? ” he remarked, cheerfully, 
as I settled myself for a comfortable half hour. “ I’m 
rather glad, on the whole, that the Ripleys are out, 
though I wanted to see Ripley on a matter of business. 
How are things going with you, little girl, eh? ” 

“ Oh, very well — that is just as well as I can expect,” 
I said, speaking with assumed cheerfulness. 

” Yes, yes, I know, as well as can be expected; that is 
just it. Rose is good to you. I’m sure; she’s a nice girl, 
though not — well, never mind — it’s Ripley himself I’m 
most anxious about. I’ve known you since you were a 
baby, Daisy, so you won’t think me impertinent if I ask 
you a question. Is Ripley kind to you ? — very fond of 
you, and all that, eh? ” 

I was accustomed to Mr. Manning’s abrupt ways, and 
his questions did not surprise me much. He was fond 
of me, I knew, and he had been very fond of mother. 

“ Oh, yes ! George is good to me,” I said, “ that is, 
just as good as he is to anyone except Rose.” 

“ Hm ! well, that isn’t saying much in his favour. To 
tell the truth, Daisy I’m not any too fond of that 
brother-in-law of yours. I always told your father that 
he’d find out some day that Ripley wasn’t quite so 


SILVER LININGS 


8o 

immaculate as he thought him. But that’s neither here 
nor there, so long as he makes Rose a good husband, 
and is kind to you. That’s all that concerns me, though 
I will say I never was more disgusted in my life than 
when I found how things were to be.” 

“Father did make a will once, didn’t he?” I in- 
quired, rather wistfully. This was the first opportunity 
I had had for mentioning the subject to anyone, since the 
night when George had told me what my future position 
was to be. 

“ Made a will, to be sure he did, and a very just one 
too. Everything was divided equally between you and 
Rose. What I can’t understand, and never expect to 
understand as long as I live, is why he destroyed that 
will. He must have been persuaded; he never would 
have done it without strong persuasion.” 

“ Who do you think persuaded him ? ” I asked with 
a sudden suspicion. “ George? ” 

“ Heavens knows, I don’t. He probably meant to 
make another will, providing for you in a different way; 
possibly not quite so liberally; but it’s curious he 
shouldn’t have told me — very curious. He generally 
consulted me about things; he wasn’t a man of a secre- 
tive nature.” 

“ Couldn’t it be possible that the will might have 
been mislaid, and might be found somewhere?” I 
asked, my thoughts reverting to sundry stories I had 
read, in which lost or misplaced wills had figured. 

“ That’s what I thought for a long time; for Warren 
had peculiar notions about some things: always would 
keep his valuable papers in his own house, instead of 


ILOSEMYTEMPER 8r 

depositing them in a place of security; but Ripley and I 
have made a thorough search of all his papers, and it 
certainly is nowhere to be found.” 

I was silent, while a sudden flash of memory almost 
took away my breath. Again I seemed to be standing 
outside the library door. Again I heard the sound of a 
striking match, and a roaring in the chimney. How 
startled and agitated George had been that night. I 
had wondered at the time what it meant, but had soon 
forgotten the incident. Now it all came rushing back 
to my mind, with a new and strange significance, and I 
felt the blood rushing up into my face, and my heart 
beating with great heavy throbs. It could not be 
possible, I told myself; George did not like me, but 
George was not a bad man; he was Rose’s husband, and 
Rose loved him. And yet — and yet 

Mr. Manning, probably mistaking the cause of my 
embarrassment and sudden silence, hastened to change 
the subject, and during the remainder of his call he 
talked only on the most indifferent topics. I tried to 
talk — to appear to be interested in what he was saying — 
but I doubt if I could have afterwards told a single word 
of our conversation, had my very life depended upon it. 
He stayed about fifteen minutes, and then rose to go, 
saying he had an engagement, and would call to see 
George another time. 

When I once more found myself alone, I went back 
to the piano and tried to banish unpleasant reflections by 
playing my most difficult pieces. I hated myself for my 
suspicious fancies; I was ready to hide my head with 
shame at the thought of having indulged in them, even 


82 


SILVER LININGS 


for a moment. And yet, do what I would, reason with 
myself, scold myself, it was all of no avail. 

I heard George and Rose come in after a little while. 
Rose went upstairs at once, but George sauntered into 
the parlour, and I paused in my playing to tell him of 
Mr. Manning’s call. I think I spoke more pleasantly 
and gently than usual, for the very reason that I was try- 
ing so hard to drive suspicion from my mind. George 
lingered to warm his hands at the fire, and I determined 
to continue the conversation, just to prove to myself that 
I bore no ill will towards my brother-in-law. 

“ George,” I said, with my fingers still on the piano 
keys, “ Miss Williams was here this afternoon. She 
came to ask when I am going to begin my lessons 
again.” 

“ Well, and what did you tell her? ” George’s tone 
was not promising, but I did not mind that. 

“ I said I wasn’t quite sure, but that I would speak to 
Rose about it. Do you suppose she would have any 
objection to my beginning next week? She says she 
doesn’t mind hearing the piano now, and I shall be glad 
to have some regular occupation. I mean to study real 
hard this winter.” 

George poked the fire vigorously, and muttered some- 
thing about the coldness of the evening, before he 
answered, and then it was not a direct answer, only 
another question. 

“ What makes you so keen on taking music les- 
sons? ” 

“ Why, I don’t know. I suppose it’s because I love 
it so that I want to play as well as I can.” 


ILOSEMYTEMPER 83 

“ Well, and don’t you think you know about as much 
now as most girls do ? ” 

“ I don’t know about that,” I returned, trying to 
laugh, but beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable, not- 
withstanding. “ I want to know a great deal more, 
though ; it is the only accomplishment I have, and mother 
always wanted me to get as much out of it as I could.” 

“ Hm ! And you think Miss Williams is a good 
teacher, do you? ” 

“ Yes, indeed; everyone says she is one of the best 
teachers in town. Then, too, I am so fond of her. 
Oh ” — with a sudden fear — “ I could never give up 
Miss Williams. I am quite sure no other teacher could 
do half so well for me.” 

“ There isn’t any question of another teacher,” said 
George, in rather a peculiar tone, “ but the fact is. Rose 
and I have been talking the matter over, and we both 
think it would be foolish for you to take music lessons 
this winter. You play very well; quite as well as other 
girls of your age ; and we do not consider Miss Williams 
a specially good teacher.” 

My heart was beating very fast, and my cheeks were 
burning. I have not mentioned the fact before, but 
one of my worst faults had been a decidedly quick tem- 
per. I was constantly saying sharp things, and regret- 
ting them afterwards. Now almost before I was aware 
of having formed them, the hasty words had left my 
lips: 

“ I suppose you don’t want to pay for my lessons; 
that’s why you talk so.” 

“ Well, since you put it so plainly, I do consider that 


84 SILVERLININGS 

your taking more music lessons at present would be a 
decided waste of money,” said George, with quiet cold- 
ness. “ You should remember, Daisy, that you are in 
many ways a great expense to us, and times are none 
too good just now. Perhaps another winter you may 
resume your lessons, but for the present I think you 
ought to realise the fact that we, who are much older 
than you, know much better what is best for you.” 

I was silent, in sheer inability to speak. I felt as 
though indignation and disappointment were choking 
me. George waited a moment for me to speak, then 
he turned to leave the room. I heard the footsteps, but 
just as he reached the door : 

“ George,” I burst out, forgetful for the moment of 
everything but my own anger and regret, “ Mr. Man- 
ning has been talking to me this afternoon, and he says 
he knows father made a will, leaving me just the same 
amount of money as he did Rose, and he doesn’t know 
what has become of it.” 

There was a moment of dead silence. George came 
quickly to my side, and stood resting his elbow against 
the piano. 

“ Mr. Warren did make such a will, I know,” he said, 
speaking in a very low tone and a voice that did not 
sound exactly like his, “ but he destroyed it again at 
my instigation.” 

” At your instigation ! ” I repeated, blankly. “ Oh, 
George, why? ” 

“ Because I did not think it just that you, who are in 
reality no blood relation of his, should share equally with 
Rose, his own daughter. I explained to him that Rose 


ILOSEMYTEMPER 85 

and I should always do everything in our power for you, 
and he consented in the end to trust you entirely to 
us.” 

I did not believe one word of George’s explanation. 
I felt that I had grown years older, years wiser. Had 
I taken time to think, I should surely have realised the 
folly of quarrelling with George, but I did not think, and 
for the second time hot, indignant words rose to my 
lips. 

“ George, what papers were you burning in the grate 
that night last spring, when you were so startled by 
finding me at the door? ” 

A sickening terror seized me the moment the ques- 
tion was asked, a sensation which was not lessened by 
the feeling of George’s heavy hand laid on my shoulder. 

“ Daisy,” he said, and his voice shook with some 
strong emotion, but whether of rage or fear I did not 
know, “ you are the most impertinent, outrageous child 
I have seen. Do you realise for one moment that 
your question is an insult? I don’t know why I take 
the trouble to answer you, but I will do so, nevertheless. 
I distinctly remember the occasion to which you refer. 
I had been busy all the evening looking over your 
father’s papers, and was burning some old receipted 
bills, which had been accumulating for years. Now, 
that you have had your answer, you may go to your 
room, and stay there for the rest of the evening. 
Neither Rose nor I shall care to see you again to-night.” 

I rose meekly; all my momentary anger was gone, 
and I w^as trembling from head to foot. What had I 
said? Of what dreadful thing had I accused my 


86 SILVERLININGS 

brother-in-law? What would he do? What would 
become of me? Those were my only thoughts just 
then. 

“ I’m very sorry, George,” I began, humbly, but he 
cut me short 

“ I should prefer not to hear any more on the sub- 
ject,” he said, icily. “ A little thing I could forgive, but 
such a vile suspicion, such an open insult — go to your 
room at once.” 

I climbed the two flights of stairs; I closed my door, 
and, sinking down on the sofa, clasped my head in my 
hands. I rocked myself backward and forward, moan- 
ing softly, “ Mother, mother! ” I was horribly fright- 
ened; I realised that I had acted like a fool. Oh, why 
had Mr. Manning ever come, putting such dreadful 
thoughts into my mind ? Oh, why had I never learned 
self-control ? 

It was a long time that I sat there ; I did not know how 
long, for I forgot to count when the clock struck. The 
evening was cold, and I had forgotten to turn on the 
furnace heat. I was shivering, but I did not mind that. 
I was too miserable, too frightened to mind anything 
just then. 

At last there was a knock at the door, and before I 
could call out to inquire who was there, it opened softly, 
and Rose came in. I knew it was Rose by her footstep, 
and a wave of sudden hope rushed over me. 

“ Are you there, Daisy? It’s so dark I can’t see you.” 

“ Yes,” I said meekly, “ I’m here on the sofa’” 

Rose did not come any nearer; she stood still near the 
door. 


ILOSEMYTEMPER 87 

“ Daisy, what have you said to George, to make him 
so angry? ” Rose’s voice sounded rather frightened, I 
thought. 

“ Didn’t he tell you? ” I inquired, cautiously. 

“ No — that is, he said you had spoken to him in a 
very rude, insulting manner, and he is terribly hurt and 
angry.” 

“ I am sorry if I said anything that wasn’t true,” I 
said, “ but I was very angry. George made me so angry 
by saying I couldn’t take any more music lessons.” 

“Well, you know, Daisy, it is rather extravagant; 
Miss Williams’ prices are very high, and just now, 
when George’s business is so poor ” 

“ I don’t care about the lessons,” I returned, wearily; 
“ I don’t feel as if I should ever care to touch the piano 
again. I’m sorry I made George angry.” 

“ I am sorry, too, very sorry,” said Rose, reprovingly. 
“ I am sure George and I are doing everything in our 
power for you, and, as George says, we are really not 
obliged by law to do anything at all.” 

“ Then don’t,” I cried, passionately, springing to my 
feet; stung almost beyond the power of endurance by 
Rose’s words. “ Don’t do another thing for me ! Do 
you think I enjoy feeling I am a burden to you every 
hour of the day? Let me go away somewhere and sup- 
port myself I ” 

“ Now, Daisy, don’t talk nonsense,” began Rose in a 
more conciliatory tone. “ You know very well you 
couldn’t do anything of the kind. Besides, it’s a pleas- 
ure to us to be able to care for you; of course, it is, for 
dear mother’s sake, if for no other reason; only you 


88 SILVER LININGS 

ought to realise it a little more, and not expect impos- 
sibilities.” 

I made no reply. I sank back on the sofa, once more, 
feeling suddenly very weak and helpless. It was quite 
true. What indeed could I do but be a helpless burden 
all my life? Rose waited for me to speak, but finding 
that I remained silent, she drew a little nearer to the 
sofa. 

“Daisy, what’s the matter? Why don’t you say 
something? Are you angry with me? Daisy, dear — 
why, my child, how cold you are. Your hands are like 
ice. Why on earth didn’t you turn the heat on, or wrap 
yourself up? ” 

She had reached my side by that time, and had both 
my cold hands in hers. I think she was really shocked 
at my condition. She lighted the gas; turned on the 
register, and covered me up with a thick shawl. 

“ I must go down now,” she said gently. “ George 
won’t like it, if I stay any longer. You — you won’t care 
to come down to dinner?” 

“ George said I was to stay in my room,” I said, a 
trifle defiantly. I was eighteen, and naturally resented 
being punished like a child. 

“ Oh, well! I don’t suppose he meant that. He was 
angry for the moment, and didn’t think what he was 
saying, that’s all ; but I dare say you will be more com- 
fortable here. I’ll send you up some dinner.” 

I said I did not want any dinner, but Rose appeared 
not to hear, and went hurriedly away, leaving me alone 
to think over my sins and cry bitterly at the thought of 
my helplessness. 


ILOSEMYTEMPER 89 

That was a very wretched evening. I crept to bed 
as soon as I could, hoping to forget my troubles in sleep, 
but it was long before sleep came, and when it did it 
was haunted by painful dreams, which effectually de- 
prived me of all comfort. 

I came down to breakfast as usual the next morning. 
Rose and George were both down before me, but though 
Rose bade me good-morning very pleasantly, George 
never opened his lips, and I only became aware of his 
presence by hearing Rose address a remark to him a 
few moments later. 

For two days matters continued unchanged. I met 
George at breakfast and dinner, but he never once ad- 
dressed a word to me. Rose was kind — at least she 
meant to be kind — but I could see that she was nervous 
and unhappy, and my heart ached for her only in a less 
degree than it ached for myself. On the third after- 
noon George came into the nursery, where I was playing 
with his little boy, and, still without addressing me, 
took the child unceremoniously off my lap, and began 
playing with him himself. I rose to leave the room, 
feeling the action was meant for reproof and wink- 
ing hard to keep back the tears of pride and mor- 
tification. But before I reached the door George 
spoke to me, for the first time since that fatal after- 
noon. 

“ Rose wishes to see you,” he said, coldly; “ she is in 
her room.” 

I merely nodded, and hurried downstairs, my heart 
troubled by a nameless foreboding. Rose was sitting 
by the fire, in the room which had once been mother’s. 


90 SILVERLININGS 

I knew at once from the tone of her voice that my fears 
were not groundless. 

“ Sit down, Daisy,” she said, in a tone which she evi- 
dently tried to make careless and cheerful, but which 
shook nervously, notwithstanding. ‘‘ I have something 
to tell you which may surprise you. Yes, I am sure it 
will surprise you, but I hope you won’t be silly, and 
make yourself unhappy over it. You remember that 
day Gertie Lee was here, she spoke of the possibility of 
our going abroad this winter.” 

“Yes,” I said in a dull, hard voice; my hopes of 
spending a winter with Miss Williams, and devoting 
myself to music, were all over now. 

“ Well,” continued Rose, “ I was quite vexed with 
Gertie for mentioning the subject, for nothing had been 
settled at the time, and George had particularly re- 
quested me to say nothing about it until things were 
more settled. Now he has made all his arrangements, 
and we expect to sail from New York on the Etruria, 
two weeks from next Saturday.” 

Rose paused, but I remained silent, and, after waiting 
a moment, she went on : 

“ We shall be away all winter, and we may possibly 
decide to spend the summer as well. You know George 
has decided to give up business, for a time at least; he 
has been feeling so miserably lately, poor fellow; he 
certainly needs a good long rest. We shall close this 
house, and dismiss the servants, all except Hannah ; she 
goes with us, of course, to take care of baby. There will 
be a good deal to attend to before we start, and only a 
very short time in which to do it all.” 


I LOSE MY TEMPER 91 

Again Rose paused; she was evidently embarrassed. 

“And what plans have you made for me?” I in- 
quired, calmly. “ You never thought of taking me 
with you, I know.” 

“ Well, no, dear, that would really be quite out of the 
question; besides you wouldn’t enjoy it, you really 
wouldn’t. One has to see in order to get any pleasure 
out of travelling. We have been trying to think what 
would be the best arrangement for you, and where you 
would be the happiest, and, to tell the truth, I have 
really been very anxious on the subject.” 

“ I might board with Miss Williams,” I suggested, 
with some eagerness. “ She sometimes takes girls to 
board, you know.” 

“ Miss Williams, yes, I thought of her, and at first 
George seemed to think it might be rather a good plan ; 
but you must remember, dear, that Miss Williams* 
prices are very high, and besides she may not have a 
room to spare. Have you ever heard George mention 
his cousins, the Garlands? ” 

“ Garland — you mean that disagreeable man from the 
East, who spent a few days with you once, the winter 
after you were married? The man who asked me if I 
bore my afflictions in a cheerful spirit, and said such a 
terribly long grace at meals? ” 

“ My dear,” said Rose, in a rather shocked tone, 
“ you mustn’t speak so disrespectfully of Dr. Garland. 
He is a very, very good man. He has spent his whole 
life in doing good. He lives with his sister in a lovely 
house in Boston. I have never met Miss Garland, but 
George says she is charming. They are not well off. 


92 SILVER LININGS 

and — well, the fact is, George wrote them two or three 
days ago, asking them if they would be willing to take 
you to board for a few months, and this afternoon a 
telegram came in reply, saying they would be delighted.” 

“ Rose,” I exclaimed, leaning forward, and laying 
my hand impulsively on her arm; I no longer tried to 
hide the emotion I felt; “ Rose, you don’t mean what 
you say. You wouldn’t, you couldn’t, send me away 
among utter strangers. Think how mother would feel 
if she knew.” 

“ I think it is very unkind of you, Daisy, to take it in 
this way,” began Rose, in a decidedly injured tone. 
“ George and I have been trying so hard to think of 
something that will make you happy. These are no 
strangers; they are George’s own cousins, and he is 
very fond of them. They will do everything in their 
power for you, I am sure, and you will be much happier 
with Miss Garland — who has nothing to do but look 
after you all day — than you would be with Miss Wil- 
liams, who has all those lessons to give.” 

There was some truth in that, but then I had never 
contemplated the possibility of going to Miss Williams 
without a maid. 

“ But Boston is so far away,” I murmured, faintly; 
“ I have never been there in my life. If I could have 
boarded with anyone here, where I have friends to 
whom I might go if I were in trouble of any kind — Oh, 
Rose ! think how lonely I should be.” And my sentence 
ended in a burst of tears. 

Rose took out her handkerchief, and began to sniff. 

“ I don’t see how you can be so unkind, Daisy,” she 


ILOSEMYTEMPER 93 

whimpered. “ I am sure it’s been hard enough for me 
to make up my mind to let you go, but you know how 
decided George is when he once gets an idea into his 
head. These people are poor, and he thinks this will 
be a good way of helping them, besides being such a 
splendid home for you. Oh, Daisy, don’t cry so! I 
can’t help it, indeed I can’t.” 

No, indeed, she could not, I know that well enough. 
I knew she was wax in her husband’s hands, and would 
no more have thought of rebelling against any decree of 
his than she would have thought of flying. My heart 
melted at once when I heard that note of genuine dis- 
tress in her voice, and in another moment my arms were 
round her neck, and I was sobbing my heart out on her 
shoulder. 

” Well, is it all settled? Have you told Daisy of the 
plans we have made for her? ” inquired George, walk- 
ing into the room ten minutes later, bringing Rose and 
me down to solid earth again with a start. 

“Yes, dear,” said Rose, meekly, and I felt her 
tremble slightly as she spoke. 

“ Daisy has never shown herself a very grateful 
young woman, so I shall not expect any special gratitude 
on this occasion,” said George with a short, disagree- 
able laugh. 

I had never liked my brother-in-law, but I could not 
help thinking at that moment that he had undoubt- 
edly changed for the worse during the past few 
months. 

“ Daisy has been very good about it,” said Rose; 
“ she is ready and willing to do anything you wish. I 


SILVER LININGS 


94 

have told her what charming people the Garlands are, 
and how happy she is to be with them.” 

“ She’ll be happy enough if she behaves herself,” re- 
turned George, carelessly, “ but she had better not try 
any impertinence with the Garlands; they won’t stand 
it.” 

I rose quietly, without waiting to hear any more, and 
slipped out of the room, not considering it worth while 
to attempt any self-defence. I knew that I had offended 
George past the hope of forgiveness, and I thought it 
very probable that his description of my character to 
his cousins had not been a very favourable one. I went 
up to my own room, where I flung myself on the bed, 
as I had done that night when George first told me 
what my future position was to be, and once more cried, 
in the bitterness of my anguish and desolation, “ Oh, 
mother, mother, I can’t live without you, I can’t live 
without you. Oh, God ! let me die, let me die.” 


VIII 


A LONG JOURNEY, WITH AN UNPLEASANT ENDING 



OME Daisy, wake up. We are nearly In 
Albany, and Rose wants to say good-bye.” 


George’s voice broke rudely In upon a 
dream in which mother and I were going somewhere 
on a ship, which rocked a great deal, and made a great 
deal of noise, and I started up to find myself in the 
corner of my section of the Pullman sleeper. I was 
giddy and confused for the first moment, and could 
scarcely rouse myself. I had passed a very wakeful 
night, being quite unaccustomed to night travel, and had 
been In consequence Indulging In a long morning nap. 

“ You know you are to leave us In Albany,” George 
went on; “ Garland Is to meet you there, and take you 
back with him to Boston. We have to go directly to 
New York.” 

I rose with a little shiver; I remembered everything 
now — remembered, with a sudden sharp pang, how 
very near the moment of parting had come. 

“ Rose Is In the stateroom with Hannah and the 
boy,” said George, drawing my arm through his. 
“ They are getting your things together. We are due 
in Albany In about ten minutes.” 

“ Ten minutes,” I repeated, drearily, “ and I am to 
leave you in ten minutes? ” 


95 


96 SILVERLININGS 

“ Yes, but don’t tremble so, child; one would suppose 
you were being led to execution.” George spoke crossly, 
but his voice did not sound quite steady, and I noticed 
that his hand was quite cold. 

We found Rose and Hannah busy packing my travel- 
ling bag, while baby George played with his tin horse, 
and chattered to himself, in happy indifference to all 
about him. George and Rose, with the baby, occu- 
pied a stateroom on the train, Hannah and I sharing 
an outside section. Rose was very quiet; she had been 
very quiet ever since we left Chicago, and I heard 
George reproving her for eating nothing at breakfast 
that morning. I was very silent, too. Now that the 
last moment had come I felt that I could not speak with- 
out crying, and I would not cry before George; to that I 
had fully made up my mind. 

Rose and I sat on the sofa side by side, holding each 
other’s hands tight, as the train began to slacken speed. 
After all, we had been sisters all our lives, and now that 
father and mother were gone, she was the nearest thing 
in the world to me. We could not part for a separation 
of months without a good deal of emotion on both 
sides. 

“ You will be sure to write very often, and let me 
know just how you get on, and if you are not perfectly 
happy,” whispered Rose, with a catch in her voice. 

“ Oh, yes ! every week, surely. You think I will have 
my typewriter in a day or two, don’t you, George? ” 

1 made a great effort to speak cheerfully. 

“ In a day or two; yes, yes, of course. It has been 
sent by freight, along with your books and other things.” 


•ALONGJOURNEY 97 

And — and, when you need any money, dear, you 
are to ask Dr. Garland for it,” continued Rose, rather 
nervously. “ George has arranged all that. And if 
we shouldn’t come back early in the spring — though I 
am quite sure we shall — Miss Garland will attend to 
getting any clothes you may need; you have all you re- 
quire for the winter. Oh, dear ! is this really Albany, 
George, and must she go ? ” 

One more long clinging embrace, a shower of kisses 
for baby George — who responded by pinching my 
cheek, and laughing with delight — a warm grasp of 
Hannah’s hand, and then George and I had stepped out 
onto the noisy, crowded platform, and George was say- 
ing in a tone of unmistakable relief: 

“ Ah, Garland! here you are. Glad to see you, old 
fellow. Here’s my sister-in-law. Miss Warren.” 

“ Delighted to meet Miss Warren again,” responded 
a smooth, oily voice, and my hand was taken in a damp, 
flabby palm, that reminded me somehow of Uriah 
Heep. “ Nothing can give me greater pleasure than the 
thought that Miss Garland and I are so soon to have the 
pleasure of welcoming this dear child to our home. 
Where are the dear wife and the precious little one, 
George? ” 

“ Right there, looking out of the car window. Do 
you want to speak to them ? ” 

“ Only for a moment, I will be back directly.” And 
Dr. Garland hurried away, leaving George and me 
standing together on the platform. Neither of us ut- 
tered a word till the doctor returned. We had no 
tender farewells to say to each other. 


98 SILVERLININGS 

“ I have been telling Mrs. Ripley what tender care 
my dear sister will take of you, Miss Warren,” Dr. 
Garland said, once more taking my hand as he rejoined 
us. “ You have no idea with what pleasure she is look- 
ing forward to your arrival. Now we must be off, 
George ; our train leaves in a few minutes. It is a very 
close connection.” 

“ Well, good-bye, Daisy,” said George, coldly; “ be a 
good girl and don’t fret. I don’t think there is anything 
more to say. Garland. I explained everything in my 
letter.” 

“ Yes, yes, my dear boy; Kate and I fully appreciate 
your confidence in us. This dear little girl will be our 
special care; you need be under no apprehensions about 
her, as I have been telling your charming wife. What a 
pretty woman, George; prettier than ever, I think, and 
the boy too, such a beautiful child ! You’re in luck, my 
dear fellow. Now good-bye, and may Heaven bless 
you all, and bring you safely home again.” 

The two men shook hands ; George brushed my fore- 
head with his moustache — his nearest approach to a 
kiss — and ten minutes later my new acquaintance and I 
were gliding out of the station, on board the Boston 
Express. 

As the train sped on, and I leaned comfortably back 
in my drawing-room chair, the first wild tumult of terror 
and grief began to subside, and I found myself wonder- 
ing what the new friends to whom I was going would be 
like. I had not been very happy at home lately; in some 
ways the leaving of the old house was a relief. It might 
be easier to take up life again among new surroundings. 


ALONGJOURNEY 99 

It was true I had not liked Dr. Garland, but then I had 
only met him once. Rose had assured me he was a very 
good man. As to his sister, I knew absolutely nothing 
about her. I am thankful to say I have always been 
blessed with a sanguine disposition, and at that period 
of my life I had known so little of evil that the idea 
never once entered my mind that the Garlands might not 
be kind to me, and it was not until we had been going 
for at least an hour, that the unusual silence of my 
travelling companion began to strike me as peculiar. 

Dr. Garland occupied the chair next to mine, and 
when we first started he had seemed rather solicitous 
for my comfort; but when he had arranged a stool for 
my feet, disposed of my jacket and travelling bag, he 
became absorbed in a newspaper, and took very little 
further notice of me. This neglect troubled me a little; 
I was not accustomed to neglect, having generally been 
treated as an object of some interest by father’s and 
mother’s friends. I strove to banish uncomfortable 
feelings by inventing a plot for a new story. I had of 
late been indulging in wild schemes for making a fortune 
by writing stories for magazines, an idea which had 
first occurred to me when a friend of Rose’s had suc- 
ceeded in getting a short story accepted in a monthly 
periodical. Building castles in the air had always been 
a favourite pastime of mine, and the possibility of win- 
ning literary fame was most alluring. As soon as my 
typewriter came from Chicago, I resolved to put my 
fortune to the test. 

Being thus pleasantly employed, the time did not 
seem so very long. At one o’clock Dr. Garland roused 


ILofC. 


lOO 


SILVER LININGS 


himself to look at his watch, and inquired if I cared for 
any luncheon, and on my replying that I was not at all 
hungry, and had rather a bad headache, he made no 
further remark on the subject, and soon afterward be- 
took himself to the smoking car, where I dare say he 
indulged in some repast on his own account. 

I felt rather queer on finding myself alone in the car, 
and could not help wondering a little uncomfortably 
what would become of me, if there should be an acci- 
dent, but I decided that it was time I began to learn to be 
independent, and soon after that I fell asleep, being 
quite worn out from my long journey and my sleepless 
night. 

I dozed off and on during the greater part of the 
afternoon, and between my naps went on building castles 
in the air, and planning for future fame. Dr. Garland 
came back to his seat, bought an afternoon paper, and 
became once more oblivious to all surroundings. The 
train was a slow one, and we were nearly an hour late, 
so that we did not reach Boston until long after dark. I 
had heard the conductor lighting the lamps in the car 
and I had also heard someone observe that it was 
raining. 

My heart beat rather fast when I rose at last from my 
seat, and Dr. Garland gave me his arm. I asked him 
if his sister would be at the station to meet us, but he 
said that his home was in one of the suburbs of the city, 
and that we should still have quite a long drive before 
us. The noise and bustle of the big station somewhat be- 
wildered me, and I clung to Dr. Garland’s arm as w^e 
made our way through the pushing, jostling throng. 


lOI 


A LONG JOURNEY 
We were soon in a cab, however, rattling over the 
stones, with the rain dashing against the window. 

My companion became more talkative now that we 
had left the train, and began questioning me about 
George’s business affairs. His questions struck me as 
slightly impertinent, but I remembered that Rose had 
told me to place perfect confidence in this cousin of 
her husband’s, so I answered as well as I could, although 
my knowledge on the subject was decidedly vague. I 
afterwards discovered that Dr. Garland was of a very 
curious disposition, and was continually on the alert to 
find out other people’s secrets. I also learned what I 
may as well mention here as anywhere else, that he was 
a man of forty-five, whose medical career, though prom- 
ising at the start, had somehow been blighted early in 
life, and that he was not looked upon as a particularly 
shining light among physicians in general. He was 
very religious, or appeared to be so, and was constantly 
interlarding his conversation with quotations from 
Scripture, and beautiful sentiments, which never struck 
me as being quite genuine. Before we had reached the 
end of our drive I had come to the conclusion that 
I liked his silence much better than his conversa- 
tion. 

It really w^as a very long drive, and our cab was ex- 
tremely slow, but at last, just as I was beginning to 
wonder if we were going to drive on all night, we 
stopped, and Dr. Garland opened the door, and got out. 
There was a dash of wind and rain in my face, as my 
companion helped me out, and lingered to pay the cab- 
man his fare. My teeth began to chatter, and 1 felt 


102 SILVER LININGS 

all at once very cold and very much frightened, though 

I could not have told why. 

Having settled with the driver, Dr. Garland once 
more took my arm, and led me along a narrow path and 
up a flight of steps. Then he opened a door, and I 
found myself in what I felt to be a small, narrow hall. 
We blind people can tell a great deal of things by 
feeling. 

“ Kate, Kate I ” shouted Dr. Garland, closing the 
front door with a bang, and beginning to pull off his 
wet overcoat, “ here we are, Kate.” 

There was a sound of approaching footsteps; then 
another voice, a sharp feminine voice, said : 

“ I thought you weren’t coming to-night. What on 
earth have you been doing all this time? ” 

“ The train was an hour late,” Dr. Garland ex- 
plained, “ and our cab was painfully slow.” 

“ I hope you made a bargain with the cabman; how 
much did you have to pay? ” 

“ Kate,” said the doctor, without noticing the last 
remark, “ this is Miss Warren. Miss Warren, allow 
me to introduce my sister.” 

“ How do you do?” said the sharp voice, and the 
owner thereof presented me with the tips of two cold 
fingers. “ Your room is all ready for you.” 

“ I hope you have saved some supper for us,” Dr. 
Garland remarked, in a tone of some anxiety. “ Miss 
Warren hasn’t had anything to eat all day, and we’re 
both hungry.” 

“Well, no, I didn’t,” returned his sister: “I 
thought you’d get something at the station ; but I guess 


ALONGJOURNEY 103 

we can rake up something. Mollie, Mollie, I say ! ” 
changing her tone to a louder key. 

There was a sound of pattering feet; a door some- 
where in the back premises opened, and a shrill childish 
voice, replied: 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Cut some slices of cold ham, and some bread, and 
bring them into the dining-room. My brother has 
come back with a — a friend.” Miss Garland hesitated 
perceptibly over the last word. 

“Shan’t I make some tea, ma’am?” the maid in- 
quired, in a very timid voice. She has since confided to 
me that the sight of my pale, tired face, and quivering 
lips gave her courage to make the request. 

“Tea? Oh, no, I guess not; the fire is about out, 
isn’t it? You don’t care about any tea, do you?” 
The last question appeared to be addressed to me. 

To tell the truth, I felt a very small desire for food 
of any kind just then, and I hastened to assure her that 
I didn’t care in the least for tea — an assurance which 
appeared to please my hostess, for her next remark was 
uttered in a much more amiable tone. 

“ Very well, then come upstairs to your room, and 
Mollie will get supper ready while we’re gone. There’s 
a fire in the dining-room, John; if you poke it a little 
it ’ll be all right for to-night. You needn’t waste any 
more coal.” 

Dr. Garland muttered an inarticulate reply, and his 
sister took my arm, and led me up a flight of very steep, 
narrow stairs. I could feel that she was a tall woman, 
and I also judged her to be bony and angular. I 


104 SILVERLININGS 

learned later that she was several years older than her 
brother, and was of a most unprepossessing appearance. 
At the top of the stairs my companion opened a door, 
and conducted me into a small, close-smelling apart- 
ment, which she informed me was to be my room. 

She did not offer to help me, but stood by silently, 
while I took off my hat and jacket, and laid them on the 
bed, not knowing where else to put them. Then I 
timidly requested to be allowed to wash my face and 
hands, but she replied shortly that “ there wasn’t any 
water,” but that Mollie would bring up some by and 
by, and I was too utterly weary and dispirited to utter 
any further protest. I noticed that every object I 
touched was covered with a powdery substance, which 
reminded me strongly of dust, and I shuddered and grew 
sick at the thought of spending the night in such a place. 
Was it possible that this woman could be a cousin of 
fussy, fastidious George? 

When we came downstairs again we found the doctor 
in the dining-room, already beginning on the very 
meagre supper, cold ham, very salt and rather 
tough; stale bread, and butter, with a glass of 
water, by way of refreshment. At least that was what 
I had, but I was not without a suspicion that even if Dr. 
Garland had not been favoured with tea, he had some- 
thing to take its place, for I detected an odour of strong 
spirits, to say nothing of hearing my host stirring some 
mixture in his glass, which I suspected to be hot punch. 

Miss Garland helped me to some ham and a small 
thin slice of bread and butter, but though I tried hard 
to eat — fearing I might be considered ungracious if I 


A LONG JOURNEY 105 

refused — I found it quite impossible to swallow more 
than two mouthfuls of this delicious repast. The pain 
in my head, which had been rapidly increasing during 
the past two hours, had now reached a point that was 
almost intolerable, but through all my suffering I could 
not help hearing and wondering at sundry scraps of the 
conversation which was going on between my host and 
hostess. 

“ How have you been getting on since I have been 
away? ” the doctor inquired, as his sister took her seat, 
after helping me to my supper. 

“ Oh, well enough ! I caught Mollie giving scraps to 
a beggar this morning, and I gave her what she de- 
served. That girl is the plague of my life, with her 
extravagant ways. I went to bed at eight o’clock last 
night; I was cold and I didn’t see the use of lighting 
a fire when I was all by myself. I made Sam go too, 
though he howled, and said he would have dipped toast 
and gingerbread. I was obliged to be very severe with 
him, but I carried my point, as I always do.” 

“ Well, how has he been to-day? ” 

“ He was all right this morning, but he got in one of 
his tantrums this afternoon, and I stood it just as long 
as I could, and then shut him up in the cellar.” 

“ Is he there now? ” 

No, I was afraid he might get cold, and be laid up 
on our hands, so I let him out at supper time, and sent 
him to bed. He’s been asleep these two hours.” 

“ I had a letter from his uncle yesterday, just before 
I left. He said he is coming soon. You must look out 
that his clothes are in decent order.” 


SILVER LININGS 


io6 

“ Oh, his best suit is all right! I keep it locked up, 
where he can’t get at it to grub in. That boy is a ter- 
rible nuisance; I sometimes think that the downright 
violent ones are easier to manage.” 

“ Well, you’d better feed him up before his uncle 
comes; he won’t be pleased if he finds the boy looking 
pale and thin.” 

Miss Garland made no reply, and at that moment 
a diversion was caused by a ring at the door bell, and the 
announcement from Mollie that the expressman had 
brought the young lady’s trunk. Up sprang Miss 
Garland, and I heard her a moment later having a 
lively altercation with the expressman on the subject of 
what she termed his exorbitant charge. The matter 
was evidently settled in time, for I heard the bumping 
of my trunk as it was carried upstairs, and set down 
in the room overhead. Then the wagon drove away, 
and Miss Garland returned. I had abandoned all pre- 
tence of eating, and was leaning back in my chair, feel- 
ing sick and faint, and more uncomfortable than I had 
ever been in my life. As soon as Miss Garland came 
back I rose, and asked permission to be allowed to go 
to bed. 

“Well,” observed the amiable lady, rather snappishly, 
“ you do look about done up, I must say. I guess a good 
night’s sleep will be about the best thing for you; so 
come along, and I’ll take the things out of your trunk 
for you.” 

She took my arm and was leading me from the room, 
but I hesitated. 


ALONGJOURNEY 107 

“ Good-night, Dr. Garland,” I said, in as pleasant 
a tone as I could assume. 

“ Good-night,” he returned, indifferently, and I, re- 
membering his affable manners of the morning, won- 
dered in the innocence of my heart what I could pos- 
sibly have done to offend him. 

Half an hour later I was in bed, shivering beneath 
coverings much too light for that time of the year, and 
thinking, as I curled myself up into a ball, in the vain 
hope of getting warm : “ I won’t stay here one moment 
longer than I can help. As soon as my typewriter comes, 
I will write to Rose and tell her how horrid it all is, and 
I am sure she will make arrangements to have me sent 
back to Chicago and dear Miss Williams. How peo- 
ple can be deceived in others, even their own relations. 
Of course Rose would never have sent me here — or 
George either, for that matter — if they had any idea 
what a dreadful person that Miss Garland is.” And I 
recalled my hostess’ last cheerful remark, as she put 
out the gas and left the room, “ There’s one comfort in 
your being blind; you w’on’t need to waste gas.” 

It was certainly a most uncomfortable experience, but 
I tried to console myself with the conviction that it could 
not last long, and when once well over would provide 
me with material for a 'work of fiction, with which to 
start my literary career. I cried a little, in spite of all 
my resolutions to be brave and make the best of things, 
and, at last, quite worn out from my long journey and 
varied emotions, my troubles were forgotten, and I fell 
fast asleep. 


IX 

I LEARN MY FATE 

W HEN I woke next morning it was with a 
sense of utter bewilderment, and it was some 
minutes before I could remember where I 
was. I did remember, however, and with such a rush 
of painful memory that I buried my face deep down in 
the pillow, and wished that I might go to sleep again 
and never wake up any more. I had no means of know- 
ing what time it was, but everything was very still, and I 
could hear the rain beating against the window. I had 
not been awake long when I heard a gentle tap at my 
door; and, in answer to my faint “Come in! ” the door 
opened, and somebody entered. 

“ It’s only me, miss,” said a shrill voice, which I at 
once recognised as belonging to Mollie, the little servant 
girl. “.Miss Garland sent me to see if you are awake. 
It’s seven o’clock, and breakfast is at half-past.” 

“ Oh, yes I l am awake,” I said, sitting up in bed, and 
trying to speak cheerfully. “ I’ll get up at once. Can 
you bring me some water, please? There wasn’t any 
last night.” 

“ Yes, miss, I brought you some hot water. I’ll show 
you where it is, and — and, could I help you any, 
miss? ” 

Something in the timid and yet kindly question 
touched me, and my lonely heart went out at that 

io8 


I LEARN MY FATE I09 

moment to the poor little maid. I assured her that I 
was accustomed to dressing myself, but that I was very 
much obliged for her offer, nevertheless. She showed 
me where to find the various toilet articles, and was so 
kind and helpful in her simple way that my spirits 
began to rise. 

“ Is Miss Garland up? ” I inquired as Mollie pre- 
pared to leave the room. 

“ Oh, dear, yes ! she’s always downstairs by seven. 
She likes to watch me get breakfast, and see that I don’t 
waste anything.” 

Just then Miss Garland’s voice called Mollie rather 
sharply from the foot of the stairs, and she hurried 
away, promising to come back in half an hour and take 
me down to breakfast. 

I had some difficulty in making my toilet in the un- 
familiar place. The wash-basin was cracked; the 
pitcher had lost a handle, and one towel was badly torn. 
The room was bitterly cold, too, so that my teeth 
chattered as I dressed, and my fingers were so stiff that 
they could scarcely hold the hair pins. Fortunately the 
room was small, and I had no trouble in finding my way 
out, and oh, how thankful I felt to dear mother for 
having insisted that I should learn to wait upon myself, 
instead of letting Sophie do things for me, as my lazy, 
ease-loving nature would have preferred. 

No Molly making an appearance by the time I was 
dressed, and feeling very hungry, I decided to make an 
effort to reach the dining-room without assistance. I 
opened my door, and stepped out into the narrow entry, 
and from thence guided myself downstairs by means of 


no SILVER LININGS 

the banisters. I was hesitating in which direction to 
turn, in order to reach the dining-room, when the sound 
of a prolonged wail fell upon my ears, followed by the 
opening of a door on my right, and Miss Garland’s 
voice raised in tones of unmistakable wrath. 

“ You stupid, careless boy! go to your room at once, 
do you hear me? Such carelessness is more than flesh 
and blood can stand. Stop that howling this instant, 
or you’ll have a whipping, do you hear? Mollie, 
Mollie, come here, and bring a wet cloth. That idiot 
has upset a whole tumbler of milk on the carpet. Oh,” 
(suddenly catching sight of me), “you’re down, are 
you? Well, go into the dining-room and sit down; I’ll 
be back in a minute, as soon as I attend to this tiresome 
boy.” 

Just then a door opened somewhere above, and Dr. 
Garland’s voice was heard calling, “ What’s the mat- 
ter down there? ” 

“ It’s Sam, of course,” returned his sister, raising her 
voice, in order to make herself audible above Sam’s 
howls. “ He spilled his milk on the floor this time, and 
now he’s roaring because I won’t give him some 
more.” 

“ Send him up to me,” commanded the doctor. “ I’ll 
attend to him. Come here, Sam, directly.” 

The wails instantly subsided into a fretful whimper, 
and the delinquent pushed past me, and began stumbling 
up the stairs. Miss Garland indicated to me the direc- 
tion of the dining-room by means of a gentle push, and 
I was soon seated at the breakfast table. 

The breakfast was not much of an improvement on 


Ill 


I LEARN MY FATE 
the supper. Oatmeal porridge, badly burned, cold, 
bitter coffee, and hard, dry toast. But I was fortunately 
blessed with a healthy young appetite, and my long fast 
was beginning to tell upon me; so that, in spite of all 
drawbacks, I succeeded in making a tolerable meal. 
While I ate. Miss Garland delivered a lecture to Mollie 
(who was engaged in wiping up the spilled milk) on the 
subject of some trifling extravagance of which that 
luckless young person had evidently been guilty. 

“ Extravagance and wastefulness are just the two 
things I won’t put up with,” continued the good lady. 
“ If I catch you doing anything of this kind again, 
Mollie, you shall leave at once; do you understand? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” responded Mollie, meekly. 

“ I mean what I say; this is the very last time I shall 
overlook it, and if you never find another place, for you 
of course won’t expect me to give you a reference; then 
your mother and your brothers and sisters will very 
probably starve, and you will have the pleasure of 
knowing that you have been the cause.” 

Mollie sniffed, but made no reply. I afterwards dis- 
covered that Miss Garland usually threatened Mollie 
with dismissal at least three times a week, .and that 
Mollie herself had learned to regard these frequent 
threats with comparative indifference, probably being 
well aware of the fact that her mistress would have 
some difficulty in procuring another girl of sixteen, will- 
ing to work without ceasing, from morning till night, 
be starved, half frozen; and for the munificent salary of 
five dollars a month. 

Dr. Garland came down before I had finished my 


I 12 


SILVER LININGS 
breakfast, and took his place at the table, after wishing 
me a very curt good-morning. 

“What have you done with Sam?” inquired Miss 
Garland, with some interest. Miss Garland appeared 
to be taking her breakfast by snatches, and was then 
engaged in drinking her coffee, standing. 

“ Shut him up in his room and tied his hands, so he 
can’t batter the door as he did last time. You’d better 
send him up some breakfast, though, his uncle will be 
here before long, you know.” 

“ How old is Sam? ” I inquired, breaking silence for 
the first time since coming to the table. I was naturally 
fond of talking, and I had a faint hope that the Gar- 
lands might be better pleased with me, if I showed a 
desire to be sociable. 

“ Fourteen,” returned Miss Garland, shortly. 

“ What a big boy to be so careless. How came he 
to upset the milk? ” 

“ He’s an idiot,” said my hostess. 

“Oh ! ” I exclaimed; then stopped, blushing, and feel- 
ing horribly uncomfortable. The idea had just oc- 
curred to me that the poor boy might be some near 
relation of the Garlands, and his affliction, in conse- 
quence, a very sore subject. 

No further remarks were made, and I finished my 
breakfast in unbroken silence. Dr. Garland also ate 
his meal without speaking, and then carried some food 
upstairs to the captive Sam. Miss Garland began 
clearing away the dishes, with Mollie’s help, and I, 
having nowhere else to go, and not knowing what was 
expected of me, remained in my seat, with folded hands. 


I LEARN MY FATE II3 

I remarked to Miss Garland that I expected my books 
and typewriter in a day or two, but, as she made no reply 
whatever, I relapsed into silence once more. 

After a while both Miss Garland and Mollie went 
upstairs, and I was left alone. I felt very dull and 
lonely, and a little frightened as well. I could not 
understand the Garlands; they were certainly unlike any 
people I had ever met before. I began to wonder how 
much George really knew about his relations, and what 
his true motive for sending me there could have been. 
No fire had been lighted in the dining-room that morn- 
ing, and the atmosphere felt decidedly chilly. Outside 
the rain still continued, and I could hear the drops 
pattering against the window; this, and the ticking of 
the clock, were the only sounds that disturbed my 
solitude for at least an hour. Then I heard approach- 
ing footsteps, and Miss Garland remarked from the 
door-way : 

“ Fm going out. I suppose you may as well stay 
here till I come back.” 

“ It’s rather chilly,” I protested, rubbing my cold 
hands together. 

“Chilly, is it? Oh, I think not! You mustn’t 
accustom yourself to too much heat. I shan’t be gone 
very long.” With which pleasant observation she de- 
parted, and I presently heard the street door close. 

This was a little more than I could bear, and I spent 
the next fifteen minutes in shedding some very bitter 
tears. Then the door again opened, and a friendly 
voice said : 

“ I just came to see, miss, if maybe you’d like to come 


II4 SILVER LININGS 

and sit in the kitchen. There’s a fire there, and it’s 

awfully cold in here.” 

I sprang to my feet with alacrity. I doubt if I had 
ever heard a more welcome sound than poor little 
Mollie’s shrill voice was at that moment. 

“ I will come with the greatest pleasure,” I said, 
warmly. “ It was so good of you to think of me.” I 
tried to speak cheerfully, but there was a catch in 
my breath, and a quiver in my voice, notwithstand- 
ing. 

Mollie was a good little soul. She didn’t say much, 
but she seemed to comprehend the state of affairs better 
than many wiser persons might have done. She led me 
into the warm kitchen, and placed me in a rocking-chair 
beside the stove. The chair had a hole in the seat, but 
that did not matter. 

“ There aint very much fire, even here,” Mollie 
explained, apologetically. “ Miss Garland do be awful 
mean about fires, but it’s better than in there. I only 
wish I dared go up and bring poor Sam down ; he must 
be just about frozen, poor boy.” 

“Who is Sam?” I inquired, feeling considerable 
curiosity on this subject. 

“ Oh, he’s just a poor silly boy ! His father and 
mother is dead, and his uncle sent him here, for the 
doctor to take care of. Nice care he gets too,” added 
Mollie under her breath. 

“ Isn’t he any relation to the Garlands? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, no, they aint got no relations — at least none 
what ever comes here.” 

“ Then how does it happen that they are willing to 


I LEARN MY FATE II5 

take an idiot boy into their house ? He must be a great 
care.” 

Mollie was silent for a while, as if uncertain how to 
reply. Then she inquired, with evident embarrass- 
ment: 

” Don’t you know what kind of a place this is? ” 

“ Place! ” I repeated in sudden terror. “ What do 
you mean? ” 

“ Oh, nothing 1 Only Dr. Garland takes people that 
have things the matter with them sometimes, that’s all. 
It’s his business, you know.” 

“ People with what sort of thing the matter with 
them? ” I persisted. 

“ Well,” said Mollie, reluctantly, “ mostly it’s things 
with their heads, but maybe it’s other things, too. You 
see I haven’t lived here very long.” 

“ How many do they have? ” 

“ They’ve only got Sam now, but there was a little 
girl when I first came. She died, though; she used to 
have dreadful fits.” 

“ Mollie,” I said, leaning forward, and clasping my 
hands, in my sudden terror and dismay, “ do you know 
why — have you ever heard anyone say — why I was 
coming here? ” 

Again Mollie was silent. 

“Tell me,” I cried, almost wildly; “you must tell 
me!” 

“I don’t know,” stammered Mollie; “they said 
you’d been sick, and — oh, I don’t know! Honest I 
don’t.” 

“ They said I had been sick, and what else? ” 


Il6 SILVER LININGS 

“ Oh, nothing else! Truly they didn’t. Miss Gar- 
land never said nothing, only that you’d been sick, and 
your folks sent you here to see if the doctor couldn’t 
cure you.” 

I had risen from my seat, and stood like one petrified. 
A sudden horrible suspicion was turning me cold and hot 
by turns. Was it possible — could this be George’s 
revenge? It seemed almost incredible, and yet what 
else did it mean? All at once my strength failed me, 
and my limbs shook so that I sank helplessly back into 
my chair. 

“It isn’t true, Mollie,” I said, in a faint voice; 
“ there has been nothing the matter with me.” 

“ Drink this, miss; oh, please do drink it;” urged 
Mollie, hurrying to my aid with a glass of water; “ you 
do look so awful white, and I’m so sorry I said anything 
to scare you. Maybe I was mistaken, and it was some- 
one else that was sick.” 

I sipped the water, and I felt somewhat more like 
myself. 

“ Tell me exactly what they said, Mollie; please do,” 
I said. “ You see, there may be some mistake. Dr. 
Garland is a cousin of my brother-in-law, and I was sent 
here because the Garlands were not well off, and he 
thought it would be a good way of helping them. He 
and my sister have gone away to Europe for the winter, 
and they did not want to take me with them. I have 
not been ill; there has never been anything the matter 
with me.” 

“ Yes, miss, I understand,” said Mollie, meekly. 

“ And you believe what I say? ” 


I LEARN MY FATE I17 

“ Yes, miss, every word.’’ 

“ Then tell me just what you have heard the Garlands 
say about me.” 

“ Well, miss, I will,” burst out Mollie, in rising 
excitement, “ for I don’t believe one word of it. I 
guess the doctor just wanted to make out he’d got 
another case, for he aint got many patients, you see. 
They said — leastwise Miss Kate said — you’d had an 
awful shock on account of your folks being killed in a 
railroad accident, and you’d been queer in your head 
ever since, and that, was why your friends sent you 
here.” 

My heart was throbbing almost to suffocation, but 
by a great effort I controlled myself sufficiently to 
ask: 

“ But what does Dr. Garland do for his patients? 
How does he treat them, I mean? ” 

“I don’t know,” said Mollie, doubtfully; “he says 
he tries to cure them, but my mother, who comes here to 
wash, says he takes a queer way of doing it. That 
poor Sam’s w^orse than when he first came, and the little 
girl died. If I was you, miss, I wouldn’t stay, honest I 
wouldn’t.” 

“ I don’t intend to,” I returned with decision. “ I 
shall have to stay a few days until I can communicate 
with my friends, for I don’t know any people here.” 

Before Mollie could reply the kitchen door was 
opened quickly, and Miss Garland put in her head. 

“ I just came back for a minute, Mollie, to tell you 
you needn’t light any fire in the dining-room to-day; it’s 
quite mild out. Oh ! ” (catching sight of me) “ you’re 


Il8 SILVER LININGS 

there, are you? What in the world are you doing in 

the kitchen? ” 

“ Please, ma’am, I brought her in here, because it was 
so chilly in the dining-room,” said Mollie, apologeti- 
cally. “ I thought you wouldn’t have no objections.” 

“Objections? No, why should I ? She looks so dis- 
tressed I thought something had happened.” 

“ Yes, Miss Garland, something has happened,” I 
said, rising, and forgetting shyness in indignation. 
“ Mollie tells me that Dr. Garland has allowed a report 
to be circulated that I am here for my health; that I 
have been very ill, and that, in fact, there is something 
the matter with my brain.” 

Miss Garland closed the door, and came nearer. 

“ Well, what of it? ” she said, shortly. 

“ What of it? ” I repeated, my anger rising, though 
I was almost too frightened to speak. “ Why, you 
know — you must surely know — that such a report is not 
true. I have not been ill, I am perfectly well.” 

“ Indeed I know nothing of the kind,” returned Miss 
Garland, decidedly. “ I believe exactly what George 
Ripley told us, and if you think you can convince me to 
the contrary by flying into a temper, you will find your- 
self much mistaken, for there is no surer sign of insanity 
than trying to prove you are sane. They all do it.” 

For another moment I stood still, motionless, rooted 
to the spot in a kind of frozen horror. Then suddenly 
I stretched out my hands, with a wild cry, and sinking 
down on the floor in a little heap, I fainted for the first 
time in my life. 

When I came to myself, I was lying on the dining- 


I LEARN MY FATE II9 

room sofa, where Miss Garland and Mollie had carried 
me ; the former was rubbing my hands, the latter sprin- 
kling cold water on my forehead. I lay for a few 
moments, trying to recall where I was and what had 
happened. Then I heard Mollie’s sympathetic voice 
say: 

“ She did talk awful nice and sensible in the kitchen. 
Are you quite sure it’s true? ” 

“ True,” repeated Miss Garland, in a tone of infinite 
scorn, “ of course, it’s true. Do you suppose my 
brother is ever mistaken about such things ? It’s a very 
sad case ; all the doctors in Chicago have given her up as 
quite hopeless. She isn’t violent, or anything of that 
kind, but is simply possessed by a fixed idea that her 
relations are trying to injure her — especially to cheat 
her out of the money she never had. Mr. Ripley has 
sent to my brother, as a last resource, and she will be 
kept here indefinitely.” 


X 

LIFE WITH THE GARLANDS 

O F the time that followed I cannot write con- 
nectedly. Indeed, my memory of it is still 
confused. The full sense of my awful position 
did not dawn upon me all at once. I was very angry 
with George; very much afraid of the Garlands; but 
I was not without hope. It was fortunate that I was so, 
for had it been otherwise I really think my brain would 
have given way in earnest beneath the awful strain. I 
knew that George had treated me very cruelly. I 
knew he must be a much worse man than I had ever 
supposed. But that the Garlands were actual villains, 
I did not believe. George had deceived them as to my 
condition, but after they had seen me for a day or two 
they would find out their mistake. Then something 
would be done for me, though of what nature I had not 
the least idea. To appeal to George I felt would under 
the circumstances be hopeless, and Rose and George 
were my only near relatives. But slowly, slowly, the 
full significance of my awful position began to dawn 
upon me, and then indeed I prayed for death as the only 
refuge from my agony and despair. 

To this day I do not know for certain whether the 
Garlands were aware of the true state of affairs or not; 
whether they really believed me to be suffering under a 
mental delusion, or whether they had reasons for assist- 


120 


I2I 


LIFE WITH THE GARLANDS 
ing George in the carrying out of his infamous scheme. 
I am inclined to believe that the latter was the case, but 
I have no proof. They were not actively unkind to 
me ; they simply refused to listen to a word I said. Oh ! 
how I pleaded and implored at first ; then when I found 
that was useless, I became very quiet and subdued, doing 
precisely what I was told, and hoping vainly that in that 
way I might in time be able to prove my sanity beyond 
doubt. It was all of no use; the Garlands remained 
obstinately unmoved. 

“Poor child I ” the doctor would say, “ it is a very sad 
case, may Heaven pity her I ” Then he would pat my 
cheek, or stroke my hair gently, and walk out of the 
room. 

Miss Garland merely sniffed disdainfully, or else 
ordered me to stop making a fool of myself. On the 
whole, I shrank from Miss Garland rather less than 
from her brother, though she was anything but a lovable 
person. 

For the first week I was somewhat buoyed up by the 
hope of the arrival of my books and typewriter, but as 
day after day passed, and they did not appear, I was 
forced to the terrible conclusion that they had never been 
sent, or else that the Garlands had disposed of them in 
their own way. I ventured to mention the subject 
several times, but never received any satisfactory reply. 
By the end of the second week I was forced to the con- 
clusion that all hope of occupation, and possible com- 
munication with distant friends, was vain. Then I 
fell into a state of hopeless misery impossible to describe. 
Deprived of my only means of employment, and 


122 


SILVER LININGS 
surrounded by cold, uncongenial people, my life became 
one unbroken, dreary monotony. Cold winter weather 
had set in, and I never went out. No one offered to 
take me for exercise except Mollie, and she was kept 
busy from morning till night. No visitors came to the 
house, although the doctor and his sister went out a 
good deal. Mollie informed me privately that she was 
sure the reason they never entertained was because Miss 
Kate was “ that stingy she couldn’t bear to spend five 
cents extra on a bit of meat for dinner.” 

I soon learned all there was to know about my new 
surroundings. The place was not an asylum, as, in the 
first horror of my dreadful discovery, I had been ready 
to believe. Dr. Garland simply accepted the charge of 
one or more feeble-minded or idiotic children, and gave 
them board, and such care as cost very little. The chil- 
dren were generally orphans, whose friends and guar- 
dians were anxious they should be put out of the way, 
and, as in the case of Sam, the poor harmless imbecile 
boy, considered their responsibility ended from the mo- 
ment of placing them under Dr. Garland’s tender care. 

I was terribly afraid of Sam at first. He made such 
horrible noises, and had a way of snapping his fingers 
directly in front of my face; at the same time uttering 
shrill cries, and, Mollie said, making horrible grimaces. 
But I soon found the poor creature was quite harmless, 
and then my fear changed to compassion. I even tried 
to be a little kind to him sometimes, when I was not too 
miserable to think of anything or anyone but myself, 
but he seemed to be almost as much afraid of me as I 
had been of him, and would run away and hide in a 


LIFE WITH THE GARLANDS 123 
corner, or even crawl under the table, at my very first 
advance towards friendliness. His uncle never came, 
and I believe it was merely his custom to threaten a 
flying visit every two or three months, in that way 
keeping the Garlands in constant anticipation of his 
arrival; a proceeding that was wise in its way, as Sam 
received better food, and was kept more tidy in conse- 
quence. But alas! there was no uncle, nor any other 
relation to threaten in my case, and I was neglected ac- 
cordingly. Day after day I sat huddled over the small 
fire, or lay upon my hard bed, too exhausted by grief 
and despair to care to move. No one noticed me; no 
one pitied me. I think if they had made me work, 
do anything in fact, even the coarsest housework, it 
would have been better for me. Once I did take cour- 
age to ask Miss Garland to give me something to do, 
but she only sniffed a scornful sniff, and asked me curtly 
what I supposed a blind girl like me could possibly do. 

If it had not been for the one friend I had in that 
wretched place, I really believe I would have died. 
That one friend was Mollie, the wretched little drudge, 
whose acquaintance I had made on that first dreadful 
morning after my arrival. It was a strange friendship, 
Mollie’s and mine, but it was a very true and sincere 
one. My heart had gone out to that little maid the 
first day, and as the days wore on my affection grew 
stronger, until it became the one solitary thing that made 
life bearable to me in that dreadful house. Mollie was 
really sixteen, but in many ways she seemed years 
younger, although there was a certain shrewdness and 
quickness about her, too. She had been a drudge ever 


124 SILVER LININGS 

since she was twelve, when her father died, and she was 
taken out of school, and placed in a family where she 
performed the multifarious duties of nurse, housemaid, 
and general factotum. There she had remained until 
she was fifteen, when the family had moved out West, 
and she had thankfully accepted Miss Garland’s offer, 
patiently taking up the duties of maid of all work, with- 
out a word of complaint. The Garlands’ was not by 
any means an ideal place, but Mollie was a good, loving 
little soul, and the thought of the poor hard-worked 
mother, and little hungry brothers and sisters, helped 
over many a rough place. She endured the hard work, 
meagre food, and frequent scoldings with a heroism 
seldom to be found in girls of more refined surroundings 
and aristocratic connections. 

No opposition was made to my acquaintance with 
Mollie; indeed, so little notice was taken of me that I 
was free to do pretty much as I liked, so long as I re- 
mained quiet. The Garlands, as I have said before, 
went out a good deal, and many a winter evening did 
Mollie and I spend together, huddling over the kitchen 
stove, while Sam slept in the rocker, or amused himself 
by cutting queer figures out of paper. Feeling that I 
must have some means of diverting my mind, in order to 
keep from brooding, I got into the way of telling Mollie 
long stories ; at first those I read, later even inventing 
some on my own account, and I can truly say I never had 
a more appreciative listener. 

“ If you could just write some of them things down. 
Miss Daisy, and get them printed in a book,” Mollie 
said one evening, with a sudden inspiration, “ you could 


LIFE WITH THE GARLANDS 125 
make your fortune in no time. Why don’t you try It 
now? ” 

I smiled faintly at the praise, and told her of some 
of my air castles, all of which had been so rudely shat- 
tered. 

“ If I only had a typewriter I might even try now,” 1 
added, regretfully; “ but they haven’t sent me mine, and 
I don’t suppose they ever will now.” 

“ Maybe they thought that while you was away you’d 
write to some of your friends, and get them to take you 
away,” said Mollie, thoughtfully. “ At least that was 
what mother said when I told her. I can’t write very 
good, and you’d have to tell me how to spell all the big 
words, but I’d write a letter for you some time — yes, 
and see it got posted, too,” said Mollie, with sudden 
energy — “ even if I got sent away for doing It; for you 
aint no more silly than I am. Miss Daisy, I know you 
aint. Mother said I could do It, If you wanted me to.” 

The grateful tears sprang to my eyes at this proof of 
Mollle’s affection, for I knew to lose her place — even 
such a place as that — would be. In her eyes at least, a 
great affliction. But I shook my head, and told her 
sorrowfully that there was no one to whom I cared to 
write. Indeed this was quite true. I had thought the 
matter over on many a wakeful night. Rose and 
George were the only living beings upon whom I had 
the slightest claim, and my pride revolted at the thought 
of confessing my condition to mere friends, like Mr. 
Manning; they might be kind, they might even take me 
away from the Garlands; but I could have no right to 
expect them to provide for me. Besides, I felt sure that 


126 SILVERLININGS 

George’s word would weigh heavily against mine, and 
if they considered that George was my guardian, they 
might feel they had no power to interfere with his ar- 
rangements, and the appeal might even end in worse 
misery for me than I was then enduring. 

After that Mollie and I fell into the way of talking 
about what we should do if, by some miracle, I were 
once more to become the owner of a typewriter. I was 
to make my fortune in an incredibly short time, and 
then Mollie and I were to leave our present abode, and 
have a dear little home of our own; with shelves upon 
shelves of books for me, a whole pantry filled with good 
things to eat for Mollie’s little brothers and sisters 
when they came to see us. Mollie never seemed to 
have any special desire for herself. She would work 
for me, she said, and be, oh ! so happy, if only mother 
and the children might come sometimes, and see how 
nice and comfortable she was. They were very child- 
ish day-dreams, but they did us no harm, and helped to 
pass away many an otherwise tedious hour. 

So the winter days came and went, bringing no change 
in this strange new life. No word reached me from the 
world outside. Sometimes I wondered bitterly how it 
was that Rose had so completely abandoned me, and how 
George accounted to her for my silence. Several friends 
had promised to write to me, but if the letters came they 
were never read to me. Mollie’s mother came one day 
in the week to do the washing, and the butcher and 
baker and grocer appeared daily, but beyond these hum- 
ble functionaries, I never met anyone except my host 
and hostess. 


LIFE WITH THE GARLANDS 127 
Christmas came and passed — such a strange and dull 
Christmas. It was glorious out of doors. I could feel 
the bright sunshine pouring in at the windows, and hear 
the sound of sleigh bells, as parties of merrymakers 
passed the door. But for me there was no merrymak- 
ing that year. Miss Garland never went to church — 
I believe Dr. Garland posed in the outside world as a 
very religious man, and I heard he had a mission class 
somewhere — but his piety never appeared under his 
own roof. The only allusion to the day was a 
remark made by Miss Garland at breakfast, to the effect 
that she supposed no end of people were making fools 
of themselves, spending money for presents that nobody 
wanted, and that she was thankful to say that she never 
indulged in any such nonsense. The day passed pre- 
cisely like any other day, and in the evening Mollie went 
home to spend a couple of hours with her family, and I 
crept away to bed, where I lay shivering under my thin 
coverings, and after lying awake for hours thinking of 
the old merry Christmases at home, I at last cried my- 
self to sleep, fairly worn out with grief and loneliness. 
Oh, was there no one in all the wide world to hold out 
a helping hand to me; no friendly voice to say a word of 
encouragement? Why did not I die, as I longed to do? 
Other people died, who had not nearly so much to suffer, 
but I was so young and strong; I was not even ill. 


XI 

THE NEW BOARDER 

I T was a bitterly cold morning in the beginning of 
January. My fingers were so stiff with cold that I 
could scarcely feel with them, and in consequence 
my dressing took longer than usual, and, when I came 
down to breakfast. Dr. Garland and his sister were al- 
ready at the table. The moment I entered the room I 
felt that a family discussion of some kind was in prog- 
ress. Miss Garland’s tones were higher than usual, 
and neither she nor her brother took the slightest notice 
of my entrance. 

“ I tell you it’s all nonsense; it will cost twice as much 
as it’s worth,” my hostess was saying as I entered. “ An 
extra person in the house always costs more ; especially a 
man, and he’ll be sure to make complaints, and want 
double what his board is worth.” 

“ He certainly offers very liberal board,” observed 
the doctor, mildly. “ It seems an odd idea his wanting 
to come, but since he’s so set on it, I really don’t see 
any reason why we shouldn’t take him. If he doesn’t 
like it at the end of the first week he can go.” 

“ Yes, after he’s made no end of extra work and a 
general nuisance of himself,” retorted Miss Garland, 
setting down my coffee cup so vigorously that a portion 
of the contents spilled over into the saucer. “ One man 

128 


THE NEW BOARDER 129 

about the house is quite enough for me. What on earth 
does he want to come for, anyway? ” 

“ More than I know. He says he wants to be in Bos- 
ton for a short time, and doesn’t care to put up at a hotel. 
He really does seem to have taken a great fancy to me, 
strange to say. He has asked me to dine with him 
twice during the past week.” 

“Where did you meet him?” Miss Garland in- 
quired, in a somewhat mollified tone. If Miss Gar- 
land possessed one virtue it was her affection for her 
brother. 

“ At the club. Thompson introduced us, and he 
seemed to take to me, at once. I’ve been continually 
running across him during the past month. Thompson 
says he is considered quite a rising young fellow in the 
profession, but I must say, he strikes me as a good deal 
of a fool.” 

“ I thought you told me he had a wife and child.” 

“ So he has. A very pretty little woman his wife is, 
too. I met her walking down Commonwealth Avenue 
with him the other day; but for some unknown reason, 
they don’t appear to hit it off together. At least I should 
judge that was it, for she’s gone back to New York with 
the child.” 

“ Perhaps she doesn’t approve of her husband’s 
friends, or the club. I won’t be mixed up with any scan- 
dal, anyway,” said Miss Garland, virtuously. “ If 
there’s one thing of which I have a horror, it is a scan- 
dal. There’s no use talking, John, I won’t take him.” 

“ Then you’ll regret it,” declared the doctor, with 
decision. “ Twenty-five dollars a week isn’t to be 


130 SILVER LININGS 

scorned, I can tell you, and besides you will probably 
be able to drive a good bargain, and tuck it on with 
extras. He seems like a soft kind of chap, who could 
be easily imposed upon, and Thompson tell’s me he’s got 
plenty of tin. He was adopted by some rich old man, I 
believe, who died, and, in the orthodox fashion, left him 
all his money. He only practises because he likes it.” 

“ Perhaps he’s a spy, sent here by Sam’s uncle,” sug- 
gested Miss Garland, evidently beginning to waver. 

“ Nonsense ! And even if he should be, what is there 
for him to find out, I should like to know? I wager 
there isn’t an institution in the country where that idiot 
boy would receive any better care than he gets here. 
But if you have any such suspicion we can be a little on 
our guard for a day or two, though I can assure you, the 
man never heard of Sam or his uncle in his life.” 

“ Well, it does seem to me a queer thing, no matter 
how you put it,” maintained Miss Garland, still dissat- 
isfied; “ but since you really think we can make a good 
thing out of it, I don’t know but what I’m willing to try, 
though I have always declared that I never would take 
boarders.” 

There was a little more discussion on the subject, and 
it ended in Dr. Garland walking off to write to the pro- 
posed boarder. I had not paid much attention to the 
discussion at first, but when I found that the obdurate 
Miss Garland was yielding, I began to feel vaguely 
uneasy. To be sure the arrival of a new inmate might 
possibly prove an agreeable change, but, on tife other 
hand, it might lead to even worse discomfort and misery. 
I could not imagine that any really nice man would 


THE NEW BOARDER 131 

select Dr. Garland for an intimate friend. I did not 
even know the new boarder’s name, but I instinctively 
formed an unfavourable opinion of him at once. This 
conviction was strengthened by Mollie, whose opinion 
on the subject I sought the moment the closing front 
door assured me that Miss Garland had gone out to 
market. 

“ He aint no good, Miss Daisy,” said Mollie, de- 
cidedly: “none of Mr. Garland’s friends are. They 
play cards, and get drunk, and do lots of things they 
shouldn’t. Dr. Garland aint a good man, though he 
talks pious sometimes. There was a friend of his come 
here once,” added Mollie, lowering her voice, and 
speaking in rather a frightened tone. “ He came once 
when Miss Kate was away. He was an awful man.” 

“ What did he do? ” I inquired curiously. 

“ Him and the doctor played cards all the evening, 
and the doctor lost a lot of money, too. The man drank 
a lot of whiskey, though the doctor didn’t, and he talked 
so loud, and sang horrid songs, and when I came in with 
something the doctor wanted, he jumped up, and — 
and — oh. Miss Daisy ! it was awful. He grabbed hold 
of me and tried to kiss me. I was so scared, and the 
doctor told him to behave, and made him let me be. I 
went upstairs and locked myself in my room, and when 
I told mother about it she said if that man ever came 
again I must leave straight off.” 

“ Do you suppose this is the same man who is coming 
to board? ” I inquired, anxiously. 

“ No, I guess not, for that one’s name was Jenkins, 
and the name of this one’s Bell. I don’t think the doc- 


132 SILVER LININGS 

tor’s known him long, but he must be like the rest or 

he wouldn’t want to come.” 

I was very much of Mollie’s opinion, and conse- 
quently did not look forward to the advent of the 
stranger with any pleasant anticipations. The next two 
days were busy ones for Miss Garland and Mollie. The 
house was large, but all the unoccupied rooms w^ere shut 
up, and to get one of them really into a habitable condi- 
tion was a task of considerable difficulty. Neither the 
doctor nor his sister was of a communicative disposi- 
tion, and I heard very little more about the boarder, 
beyond the fact that he was a certain Dr. Bell, and that 
he was expected to arrive on Saturday afternoon. 

How well I remember that Saturday afternoon ! It 
had been a wild, stormy day, and as I sat in my cold 
room, wrapped in a shawl, I could hear the wind howl- 
ing dismally about the house, and the rain dashing in 
sheets against the window. I had reached that state of 
hopeless indifference when wind and rain produced but 
small impressions upon me, and, in sheer desperation, 
having nothing else to do, I was repeating verses to my- 
self; old familiar poems which I had learned in happier 
days. I found that if I did not keep my mind busy at 
something I was apt to fall into fits of dull abstraction, 
which were almost like a stupor, and which frightened 
me terribly. Though I did not know it, I was in a fair 
way to becoming the hopeless imbecile George wished 
me to be considered, from the mere lack of occupation, 
and constant brooding. I had just been repeating a little 
poem, of which mother used to be very fond, and had 
come to these lines: 


133 


THE NEW BOARDER 
“ Perhaps the dreaded future 
Has less bitter than I think; 
The Lord may sweeten the waters 
Before I stoop to drink — 

Or if Marah must he Marah, 

He will stand beside the brink. 


It may be he has waiting. 

For the coming of my feet, 

Some gift of such rare value; 

Some joy so strangely sweet, 

That my Ups can only tremble 
TVith the joy they cannot speakl^ 


I could not help smiling a little bitterly at the irony 
of the words in my case. What joy could Life ever hold 
for me, I wondered, now that everything that had ever 
made it glad and bright had been taken away from me 
forever. 

Just at that moment my ear caught the sound of ap- 
proaching wheels, followed by a ring at the door bell, 
and murmur of voices, and an unusual bustle down- 
stairs. Then footsteps ascended the stairs; there was 
the bumping of some heavy object — probably a trunk — 
being set down in an adjoining room, and I heard Dr. 
Garland say in his very pleasantest and smoothest tones : 

“ Now, my dear fellow, will you remember that you 
are to make yourself perfectly at home, and not hesitate 
to ask for anything you may want? You may be sure 
that it will give my sister and myself the greatest plea- 


134 SILVER LININGS 

sure to do everything in our power for your comfort and 

convenience.” 

Then another voice — a voice which somehow 
sounded familiar — said: 

“ Thank you; I am sure I shall be comfortable; you 
are very good to take me in, and I only hope that I 
shan’t be a bother to your sister.” 

So the boarder had come. I wondered what man- 
ner of man he might prove to be, and whether Dr. Gar- 
land’s oily manner had deceived him, as it had deceived 
so many people. 

Not free from a certain amount of curiosity on this 
subject, I went downstairs an hour earlier than usual. 
The Garlands generally dined in the middle of the day, 
but on the present occasion Miss Garland had graciously 
consented to change the programme, remarking crossly 
that she supposed “ that man ” would expect to have 
his dinner in the evening. The consequence was we had 
had nothing to eat since breakfast; luncheon being an 
unheard of luxury in the Garland establishment; and 
being blessed with an appetite — which not even 
bad food and confinement to the house could seri- 
ously impair — I was feeling decidedly hungry. The 
Garlands were already in the dining-room, which indeed 
was the general sitting-room as well, being the only 
apartment, except the kitchen, in which a fire was ever 
lighted. The boarder was with them. I could tell that 
at once by the pleasant sound of Dr. Garland’s voice. 
They had all been talking cheerfully enough as I came 
downstairs, but, as I opened the door and came into the 
room, a sudden silence fell upon them all, which was. 


THE NEW BOARDER 135 

to say the least, decidedly embarrassing. I heard the 
boarder ask some question in a low tone. What it was 
I could not make out, but Dr. Garland’s reply, though 
delivered in an equally low key, was distinctly audible. 

“ One of my patients; blind, poor child; a peculiarly 
sad case.” 

I stood hesitating for a moment, uncertain in my em- 
barrassment whether to advance or retreat, but, in the 
next, the question was settled for me by Dr. Garland 
stepping forward, evidently at the request of the 
stranger, and saying in a very gentle, soothing tone, 
such as one might use to a sick child : 

“ Daisy, dear, this is my friend. Dr. Bell, who wishes 
to be introduced to you. You will speak to him, like a 
good girl, won’t you?” 

In one awful second the full horror of the situation 
burst upon me. This was the first time I had met any- 
one outside the family since my arrival at the Garlands’, 
and this was the terrible light in which I was to be re- 
garded by the world in the future. For the first mo- 
ment the room seemed to be going round and round. 
Then I recovered myself to find that the boarder was 
holding my hand, and saying in a voice which sounded 
rather hoarse and strained, though he evidently in- 
tended it to be kind : 

“ Miss Warren and I have met before. Perhaps you 
may have forgotten it. Miss Warren, but one day last 
spring your maid left you alone in the street, and you 
were frightened by a pair of runaway horses.” 

“ The poor child has had a great sorrow since last 
spring,” Dr. Garland interrupted, in a warning tone. 


136 SILVER LININGS 

“ It may be as well not to remind her of anything that 
happened at that time. We must be very careful not to 
excite her, poor little girl ! ” 

It was too much ; the tone and the insinuation. With 
a quick gesture I snatched my hand away, and turned 
and fled, never stopping until I had reached my own 
room, where I sank, half fainting, into the first chair I 
ran against. 

So Dr. Bell, the Garlands’ boarder, was the same 
man who had been so kind to me the day Sophie’s desire 
to make up with Prosperre had so nearly proved dis- 
astrous, and whom Sophie declared had really saved 
my life. Well, what did it matter ? It was all one now ; 
kind or unkind, my future fate was sealed. Neither Dr. 
Bell nor anyone else could alter it. I was henceforth to 
be presented to the world as an object of pity; a helpless, 
senseless imbecile. 

I was not left long in solitude. In less than five min- 
utes the door — which I had forgotten to lock — was 
pushed rudely open, and Miss Garland entered. 

“ What do you mean by acting in this absurd man- 
ner?” she demanded, previously taking the precaution 
to close the door. “ What sort of impression do you 
wish to make on people ? That you are a more hopeless 
idiot than you really are? ” 

“What made him speak to me like that? How 
dared he do it? ” I demanded, indignation getting the 
mastery over every other feeling. “ He never spoke so 
to me before. What right has he to give such an im- 
pression of me to his friends? ” 

“ The best right in the world,” returned Miss Gar- 


THE NEW BOARDER 137 

land, calmly. “ For what reason has George Ripley 
placed you here, I should like to know? You may be 
very thankful that you are treated so kindly, and are 
allowed to go about the house whenever you like. You 
won’t be much longer, unless you can learn to control 
yourself, and behave a little more like a rational being. 
I can tell you that. We don’t intend to lose a good 
boarder, because he objects to coming in contact with an 
insane girl. 

“ Now, do you intend to come downstairs and eat 
your dinner like an ordinary Christian, or shall I be 
obliged to say that you have one of your obstinate fits 
on and cannot be reasoned with? ” 

“ I won’t come down, and I don’t want any dinner,” 
I returned, obstinately, hunger quite forgotten in this 
new trouble. 

“ Very well,” said Miss Garland, shortly. “ I really 
believe that, after all, yours is a worse case than Sam’s. 
He at least isn’t in danger of becoming violent.” And 
with those words she departed, leaving me to repent in 
solitude and darkness. 


XII 

MOLLIE MAKES A DISCOVERY 

I SLEPT late next morning, and did not wake until 
aroused by Mollie, who came to bring my hotwater. 
Mollie was also the bearer of a message from her 
mistress. 

“ Miss Kate wants to know whether you’re going to 
get up and come downstairs,” she said, as I sat up in 
bed, and tried to collect my scattered senses, “ or 
whether she will have to say you’re sick.” 

“ I don’t care,” I said, wearily; “ I don’t think I want 
to go downstairs again while that man is here.” 

“ I would get up, though, if I was you; honest I 
would,” urged Mollie, lowering her voice. “ Miss 
Kate ’ll be awful mad if you don’t, and besides it’s bet- 
ter to let the boarder see you’re all right.” 

“ I don’t care anything about him,” I returned, in- 
differently; “besides he never will believe that, after 
hearing Dr. Garland speak to me as he did yesterday.” 

“But that’s just it,” Mollie persisted; “they want 
to make out you’re queer, and that they’re awful kind 
to you, but you want to show him it aint true. I don’t 
believe the boarder’s so bad, after all. He asked a lot 
of questions about you last night, and Dr. Garland told 
him such lies. I listened outside the door. I couldn’t 
help it. Miss Daisy, when I heard them talking about 
you.” 


138 


A DISCOVERY 139 

“ Well, what did they say? ” I inquired, with pardon- 
able curiosity. 

“ Oh, Dr. Garland said you were a relation of some 
cousins of his, and that you’d had a awful shock when 
your folks got killed, and had been queer ever since. 
The boarder did seem awful interested, and wanted 
to know just what had been done for you, and Dr. Gar- 
land made up a lot of stuff how your brother-in-law had 
had all the best doctors in the country to see you and 
how they could none of them do any good. Then Miss 
Kate said they had to be very careful not to talk too 
much to you, or let you get excited in any way, because 
you had queer fits.” 

“ That ’ll do, Mollie,” I said, “ you needn’t tell me 
any more, I can’t stand it. I’ll get up and go down- 
stairs, if you think it will be best, but it won’t do any 
good. I’m sure of that.” 

The Garlands and the boarder were already at the 
breakfast table when I entered the dining-room, and 
they all greeted me very kindly. But such is the in- 
consistency of weak human nature that I felt I would 
have infinitely preferred their former indifference to 
any mark of kindness just then. The climax was 
reached when Dr. Garland rose, and, coming over to my 
chair, insisted on feeling my pulse to see if I had any 
fever. There was a marked improvement in both 
quantity and quality of food this morning, the coffee 
was fairly strong, and the oatmeal was not burned, and 
there were besides hot soda biscuits and poached eggs. 
Miss Garland had made the biscuits herself, Mollie’s 
culinary powers not being of the very greatest. I was 


140 SILVER LININGS 

feeling horribly weak and faint from my long fast, but 
a cup of coffee and an egg did considerable towards re- 
storing my strength and before the meal was over I 
found myself listening to the conversation of the others 
with something like interest, not unmixed with con- 
temptuous amusement. 

“ And what are your plans for this beautiful Sab- 
bath morning; if one may be allowed to inquire? ” ob- 
served Dr. Garland to his visitor, and he asked the ques- 
tion in what Mollie called “ his pious voice.” 

“ I haven’t thought much on the subject,” returned 
the boarder, indifferently. It struck me that Dr. Bell 
seemed indifferent on most subjects. 

“ I am sorry to be obliged to leave you,” said Dr. 
Garland, in a tone of evident regret, “ but you may re- 
member what I told you the other day about my mission 
class. The children will be expecting me at ten, poor 
little waifs.” 

“ Oh, don’t bother about me ! I feel rather lazy this 
morning, and I dare say I shall stay at home and read 
the papers and smoke.” 

“ Oh, very well ! do just as you like of course. Per- 
haps this afternoon you may feel like going with me to 
hear our rector, Mr. Vanderpool. Wonderful preacher 
he is, too. I sometimes feel when I listen to his ser- 
mons, that — but excuse me, I forget that we don’t 
always agree on religious matters. Kate, my dear, you 
had better look after Sam. The poor child has upset 
the sugar bowl.” 

With a scarcely suppressed exclamation of disgust. 
Miss Garland sprang from her seat and pounced upon 


A DISCOVERY 141 

the luckless Sam. I think she would have shaken him, 
but her brother gave an ominous cough, and she changed 
her mind, and administered a gentle reproof instead, at 
which unusual kindness Sam burst into a fiendish laugh. 

“ Sam, Sam,” remonstrated his guardian, gently, 
“ remember what day it is. Good little boys don’t 
make such a noise on the Sabbath.” 

Sam chuckled and muttered some unintelligible gib- 
berish. His speech was very imperfect even at the best 
of times, and often for days together he would not utter 
an intelligible word. 

“ Poor little fellow ! ” sighed Dr. Garland, com- 
passionately ; “ it is almost impossible to make him com- 
prehend what I say to him. Still, I always make it a 
point to talk to him as I would to a child of ordinary 
intelligence. Respect for the Sabbath is, I consider, 
one of the first lessons that a child should be taught. 
You have a little girl of your own, have you not, 
doctor? ” 

“ Yes,” returned the boarder, laconically. 

“ Where is your wife now? ” inquired Miss Garland, 
with an evident view of changing the subject. 

“ She went back to New York last week.” 

“ Indeed ! and how much longer do you expect to 
remain in Boston? ” 

“ I can’t tell ; it will depend upon circumstances over 
which I have at present no control.” 

“ Let us hope the circumstances, whatever they are, 
may detain you for some time, as you are to be our 
guest,” said Dr. Garland, courteously, “ though I sup- 
pose Mrs. Bell would scarcely echo the wish. Charm- 


142 SILVERLININGS 

ingly pretty woman, doctor, I don’t think I ever saw a 
more attractive face. Where are you going, Daisy, 
dear? ” 

I had risen and was moving toward the door. 

“ I am going to my room,” I said, without turning 
round, and in a tone which I am afraid the boarder must 
have thought extremely sullen. 

“ Nonsense ! you must do nothing of the kind. It’s 
much too cold for you up there, and you have a cold 
already; I heard you cough yesterday. Sit down by the 
fire, and make yourself comfortable.” 

I felt inclined to rebel, but remembered Mollie’s ad- 
vice, and came quietly back to the seat indicated. In a 
few moments Dr. Garland rose to go out; but before 
leaving the room he paused once more at my side. 

“ All right, now, Daisy? ” he inquired, bending over 
me, and speaking in that tender, soothing tone that made 
me long to throw something at his head. “ No bad 
singing noises in your ears, no pain in your head? ” 

I shook my head in silence. I felt that if I once 
opened my mouth to speak, the torrent of rage and 
despair would burst beyond all bounds, and I had sense 
enough left to realise the folly of any such proceeding 
under the circumstances. Dr. Garland sighed again, 
patted my head, and left the room. 

As soon as I heard the street door close, I promptly 
rose, and departed to my own room. Dr. Bell also 
rose, and seemed inclined to offer me some assistance, 
but I quickly made it clear to him that I was able to take 
care of myself, and he made no further efforts to detain 
me. I spent a miserable morning in my room; shiver- 


A DISCOVERY 143 

ing with cold, and too unhappy even to think of reciting 
poetry to myself. 

Dinner passed off uneventfully enough, but I escaped 
to my own room again as soon as I could, skilfully 
avoiding the boarder, who seemed inclined to make 
friends with me. I did not like or even trust the man, 
though I had no reason for not doing so, beyond the 
fact that he was a friend of Dr. Garland’s. 

I had been in my room for some little time, and had 
heard Dr. Garland and his friend go out together, when 
Miss Garland appeared, with this singular announce- 
ment: 

“ I’ve told Mollie to get ready to take you for a 
walk.” 

“To take me for a walk,” I repeated, stupidly; 
“ what for? ” 

“ Because my brother has taken a notion into his 
head that you need more fresh air and exercise. It’s all 
nonsense, I think.” 

“ I don’t care to go,” I said, sulkily. “ I have been 
in the house so long that I have lost all inclination for 
going out. Besides poor Mollie is tired, I know.” 

“ Come, now, don’t be obstinate,” said Miss Garland, 
sharply. “ It won’t do, you know; you are to do 
exactly as you are told.” 

The disagreeable, sneering tone roused all the 
obstinacy that was in me. I sat quite still without 
moving. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Miss Garland de- 
manded. 

“ Yes, but I’m not going.” 


144 SILVERLININGS 

Miss Garland came a step nearer. 

“ Daisy Warren, do you hear what I say? Get up 
this instant, and put on your hat and jacket.” 

Still I did not move; the passion of fury in my breast 
was rising almost beyond my control. 

With one bound Miss Garland reached me, and 
seized me roughly by the arm. 

“ Get up this minute, you impertinent, obstinate 
little ” 

Miss Garland never finished her sentence, for I was 
already on my feet, facing her, with all the pent-up rage 
and bitterness of months rushing from my lips. 

“How dare you! How dare you touch me, you 
wicked woman! Yes, I will go out, but it will be to 
appeal to the very first people I meet. I will tell them 
what villains you are, you and your brother. I will tell 
them how you keep me here, pretending that I am 
insane, so that you may be paid by my wicked brother- 
in-law, when all the time you know that I am as sane as 
you are yourself. Til expose you both; I’ll prove the 
truth of what I say; I’ll ” 

I got no further, for at that moment Miss Garland 
seized my shoulders, and shook me till I gasped for 
breath. For one moment I had a horrible conviction 
that my last hour had come ; then, with a push that sent 
me spinning half-way across the room, my hostess let 
go her hold, and spoke in a low, determined voice. 

“ So, miss, that is your little game, is it? I believe 
there has never been an insane person who has not tried 
to make people think he was sane. I see that you are no 
exception to the rule.” 


A DISCOVERY 145 

Without another word she turned and left the room, 
locking the door behind her, and I sank down on the 
floor in the very spot where she had left me, and lay 
there quite motionless, in a kind of stupor. 

It was a long time before my door was again opened 
— how long I do not know, for I had lost all count of 
time. Then the key was turned in the lock, and Miss 
Garland and her brother came in together. 

“ Where is she? ” inquired the doctor in a low tone, 
as his sister carefully closed the door once more. “ It’s 
as dark as pitch in here. Are you sure she hasn’t 
gone? ” 

“Gone! what nonsense! where could she go to? 
Here, let me light the gas.” 

I heard the striking of a match, then an exclamation 
from the doctor, and next minute he was bending over 
me. 

“ What have you been doing, Kate ? Good heavens ! 
You haven’t hurt her? ” 

“ Hurt her ! of course not. Can’t you see she’s only 
shamming? Get up, Daisy; get us this instant.” 

I remained perfectly motionless. 

“ She has fainted,” exclaimed Dr. Garland, in a tone 
of genuine alarm. “ By Jove, Kate, I believe you’ve 
overstepped the mark this time. If Bell finds this out, 
there’ll be a nice row. A pretty story he’ll have to tell 
about the way in which my patients are treated. Here, 
get some water, quick, and help me lift her into the 
bed.” 

As he spoke he made an effort to raise me in his arms, 
but having no desire to be treated for a fainting fit, I 


146 SILVERLININGS 

promptly settled the question by scrambling to my feet, 
and confronting my two persecutors in silent misery. I 
think they were both relieved, though the doctor’s voice 
changed instantly to a tone of stern severity. 

“ What do you mean, Daisy, by flying into such a 
dreadful passion, and frightening my poor sister half to 
death? You must learn to control yourself better, or 
we shall not be able to keep you here.” 

“ I did not know that I had ever expressed any desire 
to stay here,” I said in a dull, hard voice. I was hor- 
ribly frightened, but I never could learn to hold my 
tongue. 

“ Perhaps, however, you would prefer remaining here 
to being sent to a lunatic asylum,” returned the doctor, 
coldly; “ and that is what will happen, unless you be- 
have yourself better than you have been doing for the 
past two days. George Ripley has given us entire 
control over you, and we are at liberty to do whatever 
we may think best.” 

I shuddered and was silent. It was not the first time 
that this frightful possibility had occurred to my mind. 
The doctor’s next words, however, were more re- 
assuring. 

“ Not that we want to do anything of the kind. 
Indeed, it would give us great pain to be obliged to do 
so. But you must understand that you are completely 
in our power, and that you must obey my sister in every- 
thing. Will you remember? ” 

Still I said nothing; I was trying with all my might 
to still the nervous trembling which had seized all my 
limbs. 


A DISCOVERY 147 

“ There’s no use talking to her,” said Miss Garland, 
impatiently. “ There’s only one thing to be done; keep 
her shut up in her room, and tell that man she’s ill. 
Perhaps she’ll come to her senses after a while.” 

Dr. Garland sighed. 

“ Well, I suppose you are right, but I hope, Daisy, 
that you understand that I do this with the greatest 
reluctance. If you would only beg my sister’s par- 
don ” 

“ She won’t, so where’s the good in talking? ” in- 
terrupted Miss Garland, sharply. “ Besides, even if 
she did, what proof should we have that she would keep 
her word? Come down to supper; solitary confinement 
is the best cure for such cases.” With which pleasant 
observation my hostess left the room, being promptly 
followed by her brother. 

I was very, very cold, and my teeth were chattering 
painfully. I decided that I would go to bed, and try to 
get warm. I was too miserable to care what became of 
me, and whether I were allowed to wander about the 
house, or were kept a solitary prisoner in my room, it 
was all one and the same thing. I remember hoping, as 
I undressed with shaking fingers, that I might have 
pneumonia, or some other serious illness, and either die 
at once, or be so ill as to be unconscious of my misery. 
There was no hope anywhere; turn where I would, 
everything seemed alike dark and hopeless. 

I spent the long, solitary evening tossing on my bed, 
and wondering what was being said about me down- 
stairs. I heard a clock in a neighbouring church tower 
strike seven, eight, and nine. Then my straining ears 


148 SILVERLININGS 

caught the sound of approaching footsteps; the key was 
again turned, and Miss Garland came in. She set 
something down on the table ; lighted the gas ; and then 
coming over to the bed, stood, apparently, looking down 
at me. 

“ Are you asleep? ” she asked, softly. 

“ No,” I answered, turning away my head with an 
impatient jerk; “ but I’m not hungry, I don’t want any 
supper.” 

“You must eat something; I have brought you some 
tea and toast.” 

“ I won’t take it,” I said, obstinately, setting my lips 
tight. 

“ You will be sick, if you don’t, and I don’t intend to 
have a sick person on my hands, I can tell you that.” 

“ You can send me to the hospital, then. I don’t care 
what becomes of me.” 

“ The hospital,” Miss Garland repeated. “ Take 
care that you are not sent to a worse place than the hos- 
pital. Now look here, Daisy, I want you to take this 
tea and toast, and behave as much as possible like a 
rational being, because Dr. Bell is coming up to see you. 
He insists on doing it, though I have tried to persuade 
him to wait till the morning. It seems he has had a 
good deal of experience with insane people, and he 
seems to be much interested in your case. It’s all very 
annoying, but neither my brother nor I care to lose a 
good boarder, who pays us well. So, for Heaven’s 
sake, try to appear as rational as you know how, and 
don’t make any more trouble than you can help.” 

I felt there might be some wisdom in Miss Garland’s 


A DISCOVERY 149 

words. I also realised the folly and hopelessness of 
further rebellion. I sat up in bed, and meekly swal- 
lowed the tea, and nibbled a slice of toast, while Miss 
Garland brushed my hair and smoothed out the bed- 
clothes. When I had finished she once more opened the 
door, and called softly : 

“ You may come now, doctor.” 

There was no reply, but I heard an approaching foot- 
step, and next moment Miss Garland and the boarder 
entered the room together. 

I had turned my face to the wall, and closed my eyes. 
Dr. Bell came to the bedside, and bent over me; evi- 
dently trying to look into my face. 

“ She has fallen asleep,” Miss Garland said in a 
whisper. “ She was asleep when I came in, but I 
roused her to take some nourishment. Poor child, she 
seemed very quiet and sensible; she always is after one 
of those violent attacks.” 

Dr. Bell took my hand, which lay on the outside of 
the bed-clothes, and held it for a moment, counting my 
pulse. 

“ She has no fever,” he said, in a low tone; “ I think 
she will sleep. You will not leave her alone? ” 

“ Oh, no indeed! ” said Miss Garland, reassuringly. 
“ My room is close by, and I am a very light sleeper. I 
think, though, that I will have Mollie come in and sleep 
with her. She is fond of Mollie, and if she wakes she 
will feel less lonely.” 

They left the room, and I could hear them whisper- 
ing together in the passage outside my door. In a few 
moments Miss Garland came back to put out the light, 


ISO SILVER LININGS 

but, as I made no movement, she evidently came to the 
same conclusion that Dr. Bell had done, and soon went 
away again, leaving me to cry my poor terrified heart 
out in undisturbed solitude. 

I did not believe that Mollie would really be allowed 
to come to me, but in this I was mistaken, for in about 
half an hour my door softly opened again, and I heard 
Mollie’s footsteps pattering across the floor. 

“ Mollie,” I cried, in a joyful whisper, raising myself 
on one elbow; “ Mollie, will they really let you stay 
with me ? ” 

Mollie’s answer was to spring like a kitten on to my 
bed; seize me in an almost strangling embrace; and 
burst into a passion of tears. 

“ Oh, Miss Daisy, Miss Daisy ! ” sobbed the poor 
little maid, “whatever made you do it? Oh, it’s so 
dreadful — so dreadful! ” 

“Do what?” I inquired, returning Mollie’s em- 
brace with fervour; “ what do you mean? Please try 
not to cry quite so loud if you can help it, Mollie; I’m 
afraid someone will hear you.” 

“ Talk like that to Miss Kate, and make her so mad, 
and Dr. Garland too,” gasped Mollie, with a mighty 
effort to stem the current of her grief. “ Oh, Miss 
Daisy, they’ve been telling the boarder such dreadful 
things, and he isn’t a nice man, and — oh, I’m so scared 
of him.” 

“ Scared of the boarder,” I repeated in dismay. 
“Why, Mollie, what has he done? I thought he 
seemed rather kind.” 

“ No, he isn’t nice,” said Mollie, with indignant 


ADISCOVERY 151 

emphasis; “ he’s a meddling spy, that’s what he is, and 
— and. Miss Daisy, I’ll tell you something,” added the 
girl, lowering her voice; “ he’s come here on purpose to 
find out all about you.” 

I gave a violent start. 

“ To find out about me, Mollie? Oh, I am sure that 
can’t be true. Why, I never met him but once before in 
my life, and that was by the merest accident. I never 
even heard his name till yesterday.” 

“ I can’t help it,” persisted Mollie. “ Maybe he 
knows some of your folks, and they’ve got him to come 
and find out about you, but that’s what he’s here for, 
and I’ll tell you how I found out. This evening just 
before supper he rang his bell, and when I went up to 
see what he wanted he made me come in and shut the 
door. Then he commenced asking me such a lot of 
questions — whether you was really queer in your head, 
and how you went on, and — oh, a lot more ! He wanted 
to give me some money to make me tell, but bless your 
heart. Miss Daisy, I wasn’t such a fool as that. I was 
awful scared, but I didn’t let him see it. I just made 
believe that I didn’t know nothing about you at all, and 
acted as if I was stupid. Then he commenced walking 
up and down the room, talking to himself, and pulling 
his moustache. He said he was your friend and wanted 
to help you, but I knew better than to be took in that 
way. He can’t be a good man. Miss Daisy, or he 
wouldn’t be here. All Dr. Garland’s friends are just as 
bad, as bad as they can be. Besides he knows your 
brother-in-law; I heard him tell Miss Kate so to-night. 
He’s wrote him a letter, and he’s waiting for an answer. 


152 SILVER LININGS 

Oh, Miss Daisy ! whatever shall we do ? I hate to tell 

you, but I think perhaps I ought. It’s something about 

taking you away ” — and poor Mollie’s grief broke forth 

afresh. 

I felt my heart sink with a terrible foreboding. If 
this were indeed true — if Dr. Bell was really a friend of 
George’s, then my case seemed hopeless. From the 
Garlands I felt sure I could look for neither help nor 
pity, and from George himself, after what he had 
already done, it would be absurd to expect any mercy. 
Suppose Dr. Bell were the head of some asylum — 
some dreadful place where I could practically be buried 
alive. The thought turned me cold and sick, and I 
could do nothing in those first dreadful moments of 
doubt and suspicion, but cling to Mollie in a helpless 
outburst of grief and despair. 


XIII 

mollie's opinion is confirmed 

W AS Dr. Bell a friend or an enemy? That 
was the question. It was a question that 
kept me lying with wide-open eyes for hours 
after Mollie had fallen into the sound sleep of the just 
and tired. He had certainly seemed kind, but yet, I 
reflected, appearances were frequently deceptive, and if 
he were really my friend, why in the world did he not 
come forward openly, and state his reasons for coming 
there? If, on the other hand, he was what Mollie 
believed, then his conduct seemed much more explicable. 
I did not remember to have ever heard George mention 
him, but that was not surprising; George doubtless had 
many friends whose names he did not mention at home. 
Perhaps my kind brother-in-law had grown anxious 
about me, fearing the Garland guardianship might not 
be sufficiently strict. If he wished to get me safely out 
of the way, what more natural than that he should have 
employed the services of this unscrupulous young 
physician to help him in his villainous plans? Possibly 
the Garlands themselves might have written, declaring 
their doubts of my insanity, and refusing to be any 
longer partners in his deception. 

As may be imagined, these were not reflections con- 
ducive to repose; neither were the sounds I heard of a 
reassuring nature. For once, while I lay quite still in 


153 


154 SILVER LININGS 

the darkness and silence, I distinctly heard soft, stealthy 
footsteps in the passage outside my door. I even heard 
something — possibly a groping hand — touch the door- 
knob, then, after a few moments of intense silence, I 
heard the footsteps move away again, and a door softly 
closed. My first impulse was to wake Mollie, but on 
second thoughts I decided to leave the poor little maid 
undisturbed. Mollie could not possibly help me, what- 
ever happened, and might only get herself into seri- 
ous trouble by appearing too much interested in my 
affairs. 

In spite of doubt and anxiety I did fall asleep at last, 
and dreamed that I was at home again with mother, and 
was telling her all about my troubles, but not as if they 
were really mine, but the troubles of a girl in a story I 
had been reading. 

I awoke with a raging headache, and was thankful to 
take Mollie’s advice and remain in bed. 

“ Miss Kate won’t let you come downstairs,” she 
said, “ and you’ll freeze stiff if you have to stay up here 
all day, unless you keep covered up in bed. It’s an 
awful cold morning.” And Mollie went away to her 
work, shivering, while I lay tossing from side to side, 
and wondering what was going to happen next. 

Nothing happened during the morning. Miss Gar- 
land brought me my breakfast — an unusually good one, 
by the way — and made no remark on finding me in bed. 
She spoke to me kindly enough, and went away, advis- 
ing me to lie still and try to get a nap. Then I was left 
alone for several hours. I did fall into a doze at last, 
and was roused by the sound of voices in the room. 


mollie's opinion 155 

They were low, subdued voices, and I recognised the 
tones of Miss Garland and of the boarder. 

“ You see, it’s just as I told you,” Miss Garland was 
saying; “ she’s always like this after one of those violent 
attacks. Poor child, it really is a very sad case. I am 
afraid it’s quite hopeless.” 

“ I am not sure of that,” the boarder returned; “ I 
should like to have an opportunity of studying it more 
closely.” 

Just then I stirred, and they both stopped abruptly. 
Dr. Bell took my hand and asked me very kindly how I 
felt. I replied that I had a bad headache, and then 
I turned my face to the wall, feeling too miserable and 
unhappy to talk, and in a few moments my visitors went 
away. 

Miss Garland came back before long, bringing me 
something in a glass, which she said Dr. Bell wished me 
to take; but I, with horrible visions of drugs and sleep- 
ing potions — to say nothing of poisons — floating 
through my mind, positively refused to swallow the 
dose, and Miss Garland evidently decided that it would 
be mere waste of time to urge the point, and went away 
again, muttering to herself that she really didn’t see 
why she should be expected to take so much trouble all 
for nothing. 

The afternoon dragged heavily on, and at half-past 
six Miss Garland brought me my dinner. My head 
was better, and I was beginning to feel so faint and weak 
by that time that I was glad enough of some food, and 
managed to make a tolerable repast, which seemed to 
afford my hostess some satisfaction. When I was left 


156 SILVER LININGS 

alone again, I lay for a long time, listening to the 
whistling of the wind, and the faint sound of voices from 
below, where I knew the family were eating their din- 
ner. Once the door bell rang, and I remember wonder- 
ing who could possibly be coming at so late an hour, for 
visitors to that house were few and far between. 

At last I dropped off to sleep, and for the time at 
least lost all recollection of sorrows and fears. 

“ Miss Daisy, oh. Miss Daisy, please do wake 
up ! ’’ 

It was Mollie’s voice that was calling me in a 
frightened whisper, Mollie’s hand that was laid on my 
forehead. With a start I sat bolt upright, rubbing my 
eyes, and wondering sleepily where I was, and what was 
the matter. 

“ What’s the matter, Mollie? ” I inquired, as soon as 
I could speak intelligibly. 

For answer Mollie sat down on the side of my bed, 
and slipped an arm protectingly around me. 

“ I’ll tell you. Miss Daisy, only you mustn’t be scared, 
and, oh, please do talk very low. They’re all in bed at 
last, even the boarder, and I thought he’d never go, he 
kept his light burning so late, but they might wake, you 
know.” 

“What time is it, Mollie?” I asked, still feeling 
rather dull and confused. 

“ It’s after twelve, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve got 
something to tell you, but oh, please don’t get scared or 
talk out loud. I’m so afraid that boarder ’ll hear; he’s 
always poking around and listening. Something’s 
going to happen. The boarder got one of them tele- 


mollie's opinion 157 

graph things from your brother-in-law tonight, and he 
wants to take you away with him to-morrow.” 

I gave a gasp and sank back on my pillow; I was 
simply too frightened to speak. 

“ He read it to the doctor and Miss Kate,” Mollie 
went on, “ and I heard what was in it. It said Dr. Bell 
was to do with you just what he liked. Oh, Miss 
Daisy, dear, don’t shake so ! It’s awful, I know, but it 
aint quite so bad as you think. Everyone’s asleep, and 
if we go very softly. I’m ’most sure we can get away 
without anyone’s hearing us.” 

“ Get away,” I repeated, stupidly; “ what would be 
the use of getting away? I have no place to go to. 
All my friends live in Chicago, and I have no money for 
the journey. Besides, I have no right to get you into 
trouble.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right ! ” interrupted Mollie, im- 
patiently. “ I wouldn’t stay here anyway after you was 
gone. Mother and I fixed it all up this evening. She 
says you aint no more crazy than she is, and she won’t 
have you carried off to any old asylum, not if she can 
help it. You can stay at our house till you have time 
to write to your friends, and mother ’ll put the Garlands 
and that Bell man off the track. She’s awful smart, my 
mother is, and you’ll be all right, only do please get 
dressed as quick as you can, for I’m so afraid that 
boarder ’ll wake up and catch us.” 

Still I hesitated. Mollie’s scheme seemed very wild 
and impracticable, and I shrank with dread from the 
possibility of bringing the poor little maid and her 
family into trouble on my account. But the recollection 


158 SILVER LININGS 

of the terrible boarder and the still more terrible lunatic 
asylum was very strong, and after a few moments I 
yielded to Mollie’s pleading, and slipping out of bed, 
began hurriedly putting on my clothes. 

“ I wish you could take your trunk, but that wouldn’t 
do,” said Mollie, regretfully. “ I’ll just do as many of 
your clothes as I can into a bundle, and you can stuff a lot 
of things into your travelling-bag. Oh, do please be as 
quiet as you possibly can.” 

I made no reply. I was shaking from head to foot, 
but I silently followed Mollie’s directions. We worked 
in the dark, for Mollie was afraid to light the gas, lest 
the ever-watchful boarder should be on the alert, and 
discover our intentions. Fortunately I knew where to 
find all my belongings, and being accustomed to dark- 
ness at all times, the absence of a light made no differ- 
ence to me. I had not many things to take, for Miss 
Garland had soon after my arrival, removed the few 
articles of any real value that I possessed — to take care 
of for me, she explained. In a very short time all my 
simple preparations were completed and I stood fully 
dressed, except for my shoes, which I carried in my 
hand. Mollie opened the door softly, and we stole out 
into the silent passage. Not a sound v/as to be heard 
save the ticking of the clocks, and the heavy breathing 
of Dr. Garland, who always snored at night. Not a 
board creaked as we crept down the stairs, not a creature 
stirred. At the foot of the stairs Mollie left me while 
she went to the kitchen where she had left her own bag, 
and I sat down on the floor and slipped on my shoes. 
Mollie was back again in a moment, carrying her valise. 


MOLLIE^S OPINION 159 

which contained all her earthly possessions, for well did 
she know that a return to that house, after the present 
escapade, was a thing impossible to contemplate. The 
key turned easily in the front door; it opened noiselessly; 
and in another moment the cold night air was blowing 
in my face. 

It was very cold, but fortunately the night was clear, 
and the moonlight on the snow made it almost as bright 
as day. It was so long since I had been out of the 
house that the first sensation of the cold, fresh air on my 
face made me feel giddy and queer, and I clung to 
Mollie’s arm for protection. But I revived in a 
moment, and we hurried along, scarcely daring to 
breathe for fear of being discovered and pursued. 

“ It isn’t very far,” panted Mollie, encouragingly, as 
my feeble limbs began to totter, after ten minutes of 
rapid walking, “ and it’s so lucky we haven’t met a soul. 
I was so afraid we should run across a policeman. 
There’s one around here a good deal at night; but it 
aint like being right in the city. It’s an awful poor 
place, you know. Miss Daisy; only a shanty, but it’s 
better than a tenement, because we have it all to our- 
selves, and it’s just as neat as wax; you can depend on 
mother for that.” 

I made no answer, being almost beyond the power of 
speech by that time, and five minutes more brought us to 
the end of our journey. We turned in at a gate; 
climbed a flight of crazy wooden steps, and Mollie 
knocked softly at a door. 

“ Let us in, mother, quick, please ! ” 

The door opened; I felt drawn away from the sharp 


SILVER LININGS 


i6o 

night air; and the next moment I was clinging to Mol- 
lie’s mother; trembling from head to foot, and crying 
passionately : 

“ Oh, I hope I haven’t done wrong; I don’t want to 
get anyone into trouble; but, oh. I’m so frightened and 
so miserable. Take care of me, please, please do take 
care of me.” 

And the good woman answered, holding me fast in 
her motherly arms : 

“ That I will, you poor little thing ! Just you trust 
Sarah West to put them scoundrels off the track, and 
keep you safe until you can hear from your friends.” 


XIV 

MRS. WEST PREVARICATES AND PROVES HER- 
SELF A FRIEND IN NEED 

I F riive to be an old woman, I shall never forget the 
kindness of Mollie and her mother to me that 
night. For the first few moments I was scarcely 
conscious of anything, but continued to cling round 
Mrs. West’s neck, trembling, and sobbing as if my heart 
would break. Mollie tried to coax me to stop crying, 
but her mother knew better. 

“ No, no, don’t stop her,” she said with decision. 
“ There, there, my poor lamb ! cry, cry your poor heart 
out : it ’ll do you more good than anything else.” 

And Mrs. West was right. As soon as the first 
paroxysm of grief and terror began to subside, she 
placed me in a rocking-chair, and began taking off my 
hat and jacket. I was too weak and exhausted to object 
to anything, and I let them do just what they liked with 
me, but when I had swallowed a cup of steaming tea, 
I began to pull myself together a little, and to wonder 
vaguely what was going to happen next. 

“ Now, my dear,” said Mrs. West, in her brisk, cheer- 
ful voice, “ I’m going to put you straight to bed. 
You’re just about done up, and that’s the truth. This 
aint no place for a lady like you, I know that very well, 
but what I want to tell you is that you’re welcome to 

i6i 


i 62 silverlinings 

stay here just as long as you like, and there shan’t no 

harm come to you, that I promise.” 

“ But Mollie,” I murmured, faintly. “ Mollie will 
have to go back to the Garlands, and when they find I 
have gone, they will suspect that she helped me to get 
away.” 

“ Go back to the Garlands ! ” Mrs. West repeated, 
with scornful emphasis, “ that she won’t. She’ll never 
put her foot inside of that house again, if I can help it. 
Miserable old skinflints I I’ve had quite enough of the 
Garlands.” 

I remembered what Mollie had said about the poverty 
of the family, and my tears broke forth afresh. 

“Oh, Mrs. West!” I protested, “you mustn’t let 
Mollie lose her place on my account. Indeed, I would 
rather go back to the Garlands, and let them do what 
they like with me. I can’t have you all suffer for my 
sake.” 

“ Now look here,” said Mrs. West, with cheerful 
decision; “you aint going to make yourself miserable 
for nothing. We aint none of us going to suffer 
through Mollie’s leaving the Garlands, and I might just 
as well tell you she’d have left there two weeks ago if 
it hadn’t been for you. You see, it was this way. My 
sister, Mrs. Sheehan, that lives in New York, and is very 
comfortable, through her husband being a plumber, 
wrote to say she’d take Mollie, if I could spare her, and 
she knew of a real nice place for her with a cousin of her 
husband’s, who is a milliner and wanted a girl to help 
in the store and carry home the parcels. My sister 
knew we was rather badly off, though there’s been a 


MRS. WEST PREVARICATES 163 
coolness between us for a good many years, and she even 
sent the money for Mollie’s journey. I don’t mind say- 
ing I’d have packed her straight off, for it did seem a 
first-rate chance for her — not but what I’ll miss her bad 
enough when she’s gone^ — but, bless you. Miss Warren, 
she wouldn’t stir a step while you stayed at the Gar- 
lands’. She said you had been kind to her, and you 
wasn’t happy there, and — well, the long and short of it 
was, she wouldn’t go.” 

Mollie was on her knees before me, unbuttoning my 
boots. With a sudden impulse, I stooped and kissed 
her, as tenderly as if she had been my own little sister. 

“ So you see,” Mrs. West went on, giving my shoul- 
der an affectionate pat, “ you aint got nothing to worry 
about. Mollie’s provided for, and you can stay right 
on here till you have time to write to your friends, and 
some of ’em come to fetch you. And now I aint going 
to let you say another word to-night. You’re just worn 
out, and so’s Mollie, and it’s after one o’clock.” 

So saying, Mrs. West led me into the tiny bedroom, 
promptly silencing all my broken expressions of grati- 
tude, and helped me to undress. I afterwards learned 
that the shanty boasted of but one extra room, and that 
Mrs. West had given me her own bed; she and Mollie 
sleeping on an improvised cot in the kitchen. The bed 
felt hard, and the bed-clothes were none too thick for 
that bitter night, but I was far too tired, and far too 
grateful, to be troubled by any such trifles. Mrs. West 
tucked me in, and then stooped down and gave me a 
motherly kiss; such a kiss as I had not had in many a 
long day. 


i 64 silverlinings 

“ Now go right to sleep, dear,” she said, “ and don’t 
fret about anything. Just trust Sarah West to take care 
of you. Crazy indeed ; you aint no more crazy than I 
am! I’ll fix them Garlands, and their friends too, 
before I’ve done with them, see if I don’t.” 

But it is one thing to be told to go to sleep, and quite 
another to obey the order. It was a long, long time 
before my eyes closed in sleep that night, and for hours 
after Mollie and her mother had left off whispering, and 
the little house was as silent as the grave, I lay tossing 
from side to side, and thinking, thinking, until it seemed 
as if my brain must give way in my misery and helpless- 
ness. But tired nature asserted herself at last, and just 
before morning I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, from 
which I did not wake for several hours. 

I awoke at last, roused by the sound of voices in the 
next room, and lay for some minutes too miserable to 
move. It was evident that the family were up and 
about; besides the voices I heard the sound of footsteps 
and the rattle of dishes. It was also evident that some- 
one was endeavouring to maintain some kind of dis- 
cipline, for every few moments the voices would rise to a 
higher key, and then would come a warning “ hush — 
sh — sh,” which would be followed by a moment of com- 
plete silence, after which the murmur would begin again. 
The cautious opening of my door, during one of these 
momentary pauses, finally aroused me effectually, and I 
sat up in bed. 

“ Bless your heart! ” exclaimed Mrs. West’s hearty 
voice, as the good woman hurried to my side; “ I hope 
them children haven’t woke you. I’ve tried my best 


MRS. WEST PREVARICATES 165 
to keep them quiet, and so’s Mollie, but, my goodness ! 
what can you expect of children, especially when three 
of ’em’s boys. Just you lie still, and I’ll bring your 
breakfast in half a minute. By and by, when them 
noisy young ones gets off to school, you can get up, and 
come in here by the fire, but they’re enough to split your 
head with their racket when you aint used to ’em.” 

Mrs. West bustled away, and soon returned, bringing 
my breakfast. Only weak tea, dry toast, and a boiled 
egg, but surely no meal was ever prepared and offered 
with more kindly hospitality, and, try as I might to keep 
them back, the grateful tears would run down my cheeks 
as I ate and drank, greatly to the distress of poor little 
Mollie, who insisted on feeding me herself. 

The Wests appeared to be, on the whole, a very 
cheerful family, for though the children did undoubtedly 
make a great deal of noise, they were not in the least 
quarrelsome, and I certainly heard more laughter dur- 
ing the next hour than I had heard during all the weeks 
I had been at the Garlands’. There were five children, 
as I learned from Mollie: Tommy, Jimmy, Peter, May, 
and little Susie, who was only five and a half. They ap- 
peared to accept my presence quite as a matter of course, 
and were very little disturbed by it, but when, thinking 
it might please their mother, I expressed a wish to make 
their acquaintance, they were each brought in turn to 
shake hands with me. 

“ You needn’t be afraid of their chattering about you 
either,” Mrs. West explained, reassuringly. “ They’re 
good children, and know what a promise means, and I 
had a talk with ’em this morning when they first woke. 


l66 SILVER LININGS 

They know what they have to expect if they don’t mind 
me, and I guess I’ve made it pretty clear to ’em that 
they’re to hold their tongues.” 

In due course the children were gotten off to school, 
and then — the house having settled down to something 
like order — I was allowed to get up. 

I had just finished my toilet, at which Mollie had in- 
sisted on acting as my maid, when Mrs. West — who had 
been busy in the kitchen — burst suddenly into the room, 
exclaiming in a warning whisper : 

“ Keep still, girls; don’t either of you stir out of this 
room; they’re coming! ” 

“ Who? ” demanded Mollie. I began to tremble. 

“ Dr. Garland and the boarder. I saw them getting 
out of a cab, and there they are at the door.” 

Sure enough, as Mrs. West uttered the words, there 
was a loud knock at the outer door. 

Mrs. West was moving away, but Mollie caught her 
dress. 

“ Say, mother,” she whispered. “ Hadn’t we better 
hide in the loft? They might come in here, you know.” 

“ I declare if that isn’t a good idea I ” exclaimed Mrs. 
West, in a tone of undoubted relief. “Take Miss War- 
ren right up there, and I’ll hide your things under the 
bed. They shan’t come in if I can’t help it, but even if 
they do they won’t find nothing. There they go at the 
door again. A mighty hurry they’re in, but they’ll have 
to wait for me. Don’t be so frightened. Miss Warren; 
don’t, my lamb! Now, Mollie, quick! ” 

I was almost petrified with terror, but Mollie seized 
me firmly by the arm, and dragged me through a 


MRS. WEST PREVARICATES 167 
passage, and up a flight of very steep, narrow stairs; 
more like a ladder than a stairway. The loft was so 
low that we had to get down on our hands and knees, 
but we were thankful enough to find a place of com- 
parative safety, and clung to each other, almost afraid 
to breathe. 

Mollie had omitted in her haste to close the door at 
the foot of the stairs, and we could distinctly hear from 
our hiding-place all that passed below. The loud, im- 
patient knocking had been several times repeated before 
we heard Mrs. West open the door, but when she did so, 
her voice sounded perfectly calm and composed, though 
certainly a little surprised. 

“ Why, Dr. Garland, I had no idea it was you. You 
must excuse me for keeping you waiting, but my hands 
was just in the suds, and ” 

“Where’s Mollie? I want to speak to Mollie at 
once,” Dr. Garland’s voice interrupted, sharply. 

“ Mollie,” repeated Mrs. West, vaguely. “ I don’t 
know what you mean, sir. Mollie’s at your house, aint 
she?” 

“You know very well that she is not. You must 
know that your daughter left my house some time last 
night, in company with the unfortunate young blind 
girl who has been under my care.” 

Mrs. West uttered an ejaculation of dismay. 

“ Gone,” she cried, “ and with that poor child, too! 
No, it aint true ; she aint never done it, after all 1 ” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ after all ’ ? What has she 
said to you on the subject? ” 

“ Why, sir, it means that Miss Warren has been 


l68 SILVER LININGS 

begging my Mollie to go away with her for the past 
three weeks. She said she wasn’t happy here, and 
wanted to go back to her friends in Chicago. She 
promised she’d pay Mollie well, and make it worth her 
while if she’d help her. Mollie came to me about it 
two or three times, but I told her to have nothing to do 
with it. Why, it was only yesterday afternoon we was 
talking about it, Mollie and me, when I was over to 
your house, washing, and she gave me her promise that 
she wouldn’t do nothing I wouldn’t like. But there ! 
that just shows how much you can depend on them 
girls.” Mrs. West’s voice rose to a higher key at the 
last words, and it seemed as if she was going to cry. 

“If you have known of this for weeks, why on earth 
haven’t you told my sister about it?” demanded Dr. 
Garland, sternly. 

“ Well, sir, to tell the truth, I didn’t just like to. 
You see, what Mollie told me was in confidence like. 
Then I knew the poor child couldn’t go alone, and 
Mollie promised me she wouldn’t go with her. I 
thought likely it was just a silly fancy on Miss Warren’s 
part, and would soon wear off.” 

“ Are you sure it was Chicago where Miss Warren 
wanted your daughter to take her?” the boarder in- 
quired, with some eagerness. 

“Yes, sir, Chicago; that was where Miss Warren 
used to live, you know. I didn’t believe at first she’d 
have money for such an awful long journey, but she told 
Mollie, yesterday, she had some her sister gave her that 
nobody knew about. Just let me once get that little 
wrench Mollie back, and I’ll fix her.” 


MRS. WEST PREVARICATES 169 

“ It seems rather strange that your daughter should 
have started on such a long journey without first letting 
you know,” said Dr. Bell, suspiciously. 

“ And indeed she knew well it’s never a step she’d 
have gone if she did. I’d have found a way of stopping 
her, if I’d had to lock her up, and poor Miss Warren 
too, for that matter. Oh dear ! oh dear ! it’s a dreadful 
long way for them young things to be going all by them- 
selves. If anything should happen to them ” 

“ Don’t distress yourself,” said Dr. Garland. “ I 
dare say they are safe enough, and we shall soon have 
them back again. Come, Bell, I think we have the clew 
we want, and there is no use in wasting any more time 
here.” 

“Wait one moment,” said the boarder; “or better 
still drive back to your house in the cab as quickly as you 
can, and get your sister to put some of our things to- 
gether. We must take the next train, of course. Now, 
my good woman,” he added, in a different tone, “ there 
is something I want to say to you. I have no reason to 
doubt your story, and indeed, I do not doubt it; but I 
just want to say this, that if you or your daughter 
imagine for one moment that, by keeping Miss Warren’s 
whereabouts a secret from her friends, you are render- 
ing that poor child a serivce, you were never more mis- 
taken in your life.” 

“ Oh, sir ! how could such an idea ever have come into 
your head? Haven’t I been telling Mollie all along 
that the very best thing for the poor young lady was to 
leave her in the place where she was being properly 
taken care of — where her own folks put her? ” 


170 SILVER LININGS 

“ Well, well ! I don’t say you haven’t. I only 
thought it barely possible. Your daughter seemed very 
reluctant to give me any information about Miss War- 
ren’s condition the other day. You will hear from her, 
I suppose.” 

“ Oh, yes, sir! She’ll be sure to write. She knows 
I’ll be right mad with her, but she wouldn’t be so cruel 
as not to write — oh, she couldn’t be so bad as that.” 

“ Well, the moment you hear, you are to let Miss 
Garland know, you understand that. She will know 
my address, and will telegraph me at once. I shall 
start for Chicago by the next train, and I may be in 
time to overtake them.” 

“ Yes, indeed, I will, sir, the very minute I hear. 
And it ’ll be soon. I’m sure, for Mollie’s a good girl, and 
she knows how anxious I’ll be. She was that fond of 
Miss Warren as I never saw the beat. I suppose the 
young lady influenced her.” 

“ Very possibly. I am very glad that Miss Warren 
has such a staunch little friend. No harm shall come 
to your daughter through this affair, I promise you that. 
If I can only find this poor child, and take her to a place 
where she can be safe and happy,I will look after Mollie 
too. Here’s a trifle for you, to pay for your trouble. 
I believe you are a good woman, and will help us all you 
can. I shall leave no stone unturned, spare neither time 
nor money in my efforts to find my — to find Miss War- 
ren. Now I must be off. You understand just what 
you are to do? ” 

“ Yes, sir. I’m to let Miss Garland know the minute 
I hear from Mollie. And would it be asking too much 


MRS. WEST PREVARICATES 171 
to beg as you’d let me know if you find them before 
Mollie has a chance to write, for I can’t help feeling 
pretty worried, you know?” 

“ I will telegraph you as soon as they are found. 
Dr. Garland knows your name and address, of course. 
Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye, sir, and thank you for all your kindness.” 

The door closed, and Mollie and I each drew a long 
breath of intense relief. There was a moment’s silence, 
then Mrs. West came to the foot of the ladder and 
called softly : 

“ You can come down again, girls.” 

We scrambled down the dusty steps, and Mrs. West 
received us with open arms. 

“ Well,” she exclaimed in a tone of genuine satisfac- 
tion, “ I rather flatter myself that I managed that little 
affair pretty well.” 

“ Oh, mother, you’re just wonderful,” cried Mollie, 
bestowing upon her parent a rapturous embrace. 
“ My ! didn’t you fool them, though ! ” 

“ Yes, I did fool them,” Mrs. West admitted, with 
pardonable pride. “ I told a heap of lies to do it, too, 
and lying never was much in my line. Mind this, 
Mollie, don’t you ever go telling lies and deceiving folks 
like that. My goodness! whatever would my father 
say — him that was Elder in the Church, and a good 
Hardshell Baptist all his life. He brought us all up in 
honest. God-fearing ways.” 

“ I’m so sorry you had to do it on my account,” I said, 
regretfully, laying my hand on Mrs. West’s arm. “ It 
is all so dreadful, if I only knew what I ought to do. 


172 SILVER LININGS 

Sometimes I think it might have been better if I hadn’t 
run away at all. It really doesn’t matter what becomes 
of me.” 

Mrs. West gave my hand a reassuring pat. 

“ Now don’t you fret,” she said. “ It’s all right, and 
I’d do it again to-morrow if you wanted me to. I’d 
fool that Garland man every day in the week, and think 
it no harm neither ; nasty, sneaking old cuss ! But that 
young fellow; he seemed different, somehow. He did 
look so dreadfully worried, and he had such a nice face. 
Who is he anyway, Miss Warren? Have you known 
him long? ” 

“ I don’t know him at all,” I said. “ He is a friend 
of my brother-in-law’s. My brother-in-law has sent 
him here to take me away. I don’t know where he 
wants to take me.” My composure gave way suddenly, 
and I began to cry again. 

“ Well, there’s one thing certain,” Mrs. West re- 
marked ten minutes later, “ and that is you two have got 
to be taken from this place, and the sooner the better. 
Those men won’t be long going to Chicago and back 
again, and in the mean time they’re like enough to hire 
someone to spy around here. I’ll engage to keep them 
off the track, but I’ve got to have you both out of the 
way. I’ve been thinking things over, and I’ve got an 
idea. Mollie can go to my sister’s in New York. 
Mary’s ready for her any time, and we’ve got the money 
for the journey. Now suppose you was to go with her. 
Miss Warren. You could write to your friends as good 
from there, and it seems to me it would be a good deal 
safer. Mary’d take you in and welcome for a few 


MRS. WEST PREVARICATES 173 
days, and not ask for pay either. There’s money 
enough for you to go. That man’s trifle was a five- 
dollar bill. I don’t mind spending it for you, but I 
shouldn’t like to use it any other way, considering the 
way I got it. You haven’t no friends at all in Boston, 
have you? ” 

“No, not one,” I said, mournfully; “but,” with a 
sudden recollection, “ I have some friends in New York 
— at least some cousins of my father’s live there. I 
don’t know them very well, but they stayed with us once 
three or four years ago, and they were very kind. They 
are elderly people — a Mr. and Mrs. Morgan — and they 
have no children. I wrote to Mrs. Morgan, once after 
they went home, and I remember her address. They 
might be willing to take me in for a few days, and help 
me a little. I don’t believe they would betray me to 
George, if I told them everything. I remember they 
didn’t seem to like George very much when they stayed 
with us.” 

“ That’s first-rate,” said Mrs. West, approvingly. 
“ You and Mollie shall start off for New York this very 
afternoon. I’ll telegraph Mary, and either she or her 
husband ’ll be at the station to meet you. I can better 
afford to spend the quarter for the telegram than run the 
risk of you two getting to a strange place late at night 
all by yourselves, and not knowing your way. You 
needn’t mind staying at Mary’s, Miss Warren, for she’s 
a nice, clean woman. She was a lady’s maid before she 
married, so she knows the ways of ladies and gentlemen, 
— which is more than I do, for I never lived out in my 
life, but stayed right along on the old farm at Buckport 


174 SILVER LININGS 

till I married. And Thomas Sheehan’s a decent, re- 
spectable man, too, though he aint so generous with his 
money as he might be. They’ll be glad to take you in; 
you needn’t worry about that.” 

“ And I shall not trouble them long,” I said, my 
hopes beginning to rise rapidly, as instance after instance 
of the Morgans’ kindness returned to my mind. “ Mrs. 
Morgan will be kind to me, I know ; she was so fond of 
mother — and perhaps she will help me to get something 
to do. I might give music lessons — blind people do 
sometimes, you know, and I really don’t play badly — or 
I might write stories. But, oh, dear Mrs. West, what- 
ever happens, I shall never, never forget your kindness 
to me.” And I flung my arms around the good woman’s 
neck and hugged her. 


XV 


I SET OUT TO SEEK MY FORTUNE, AND MEET WITH 
AN UNLOOKED FOR DIFFICULTY 

HE next two hours were very busy ones indeed. 



Mrs. West went out to send her telegram and 


make a few necessary purchases for Mollie. 
She returned with a thick black veil for me, which she 
insisted on my wearing on the journey. While she was 
gone, Mollie collected her few belongings, and shed a 
few natural tears at the thought of leaving home and 
dear ones. Then followed a hasty lunch of bread and 
cheese, and at last, at a little before twelve, we all three 
left the house together, en route for the station. 

Mollie was almost heart-broken at the idea of being 
obliged to leave without saying good-bye to the children, 
but Mrs. West remained firm in her decision that we 
must get away as soon as possible. We met few people 
on our way, for the day was dull and stormy, and those 
we did meet took no special notice of us. We walked 
some little distance, and then took a horse-car, which 
soon brought us in the heart of the big, noisy city. My 
heart beat fast, and I clung nervously to Mrs. West’s 
arm when we entered the crowded railway station, 
but she squeezed my hand reassuringly, and hurried 
us on to the waiting train, where we were fortunate in 
securing a seat together, at the farther end of the 
last car. 


175 


176 SILVER LININGS 

“ Now, I must hurry back,” said Mrs. West, with 
assumed cheerfulness, as she settled us in our seats, and 
placed Mollie’s bag in the rack overhead. “ The 
children ’ll be coming home to dinner, and there aint 
no dinner ready. Be a good girl, Mollie, and mind 
you do just what your Aunt Mary tells you to. Ask 
her to send me a line just as soon as you get there. If she 
posts her letter to-night, I’ll get it first thing in the 
morning, and I shan’t feel quite easy in my mind, till 
I know you’re both safe. Good-bye, Miss Warren; 
nonsense, there aint anything to thank me for. Don’t 
be silly, Mollie; stop crying, there’s a good child. 
Good-bye, good-bye.” 

She kissed Mollie, squeezed my hand again, and was 
gone. Five minutes later the New York Express was 
steaming slowly out of the station. 

We were off. No one had stopped us, no one had 
interfered with us. I leaned back in my seat and gave 
vent to a long sigh of intense relief. Mollie was crying 
quietly by my side ; poor little Mollie, this going away 
from her home meant a great deal to her, and my first 
efforts were to cheer her a little. I slipped an arm 
about her, we drew close together; feeling very lonely 
among that car full of strangers; but before long Mollie 
dried her eyes and began to talk. 

“Have you ever seen your aunt before?” I asked 
after a while. 

“No, never. You see, she was angry when mother 
married. She didn’t like father, because you know. 
Miss Daisy, father wasn’t a good man.” 

I had heard something of Mollie’s father before, and 


I SEEK MY FORTUNE 177 

I knew that his death — the result of a street accident — 
had been more of a relief than a sorrow to his family. 

“ Mother never saw Aunt Mary after she married,” 
Mollie went on. “ Nor grandpa, either. Grandpa 
said, if mother married Jim West, he wouldn’t ever 
forgive her, and he never did. He and Aunt Mary 
stayed on at the old farm till he died, and then Aunt 
Mary went to New York and lived out. Afterwards 
she married Mr. Sheehan. Mr. Sheehan’s a plumber, 
you know, and they’re very well off, mother says.” 

“ And has your mother really never seen her sister 
once in all these years? ” 

“ No, never. When father died Aunt Mary sent 
mother some money, and a little while ago she wrote 
and said she’d find me a place in New York. Mother 
says she’s awful stiff and particular,” finished Mollie, 
rather mournfully. 

The afternoon dragged on, and it grew dark outside, 
and the lamps in the car were lighted. No one spoke to 
us, or appeared to take any notice of us. Mollie fell 
asleep, with her head on my shoulder, and I did not 
like to move, for fear of rousing her, for I knew she 
had had but a poor night’s rest. As for me, I was not 
in the least sleepy. My thoughts were busy trying to 
recall everything I had ever heard concerning the Mor- 
gans. Previously, they had not interested me specially. 
Mr. Morgan was a feeble old gentleman, who told 
long, prosy stories, without much point to them, and 
his wife was a fussy old lady, whose chief interest in 
life had appeared to be knitting washrags. To tell 
the truth, I had thought them both rather uninteresting. 


178 SILVER LININGS 

but they had been very kind to me, and had also been 
most urgent in their invitation to mother and me to 
come and stay with them. How strange it seemed 
that the Morgans should now appear to be my only 
hope of salvation ! I felt that I dared not go back to 
Chicago, even if I had the money. George was so well 
known there ; he had so many friends. Someone would 
surely betray me to him, and then if he were proved to 
be my natural guardian if I was still under age? (I was 
not sure at what time a girl came of age in Illinois) . I 
shivered with nervous terror, as visions of Dr. Garland 
and that horrible Dr. Bell rose before my mind. Even 
kind Mr. Manning was scarcely a safe person, I thought, 
for he was a lawyer, and might have unpleasant scruples 
about justice and duty. 

It was long after dark when the train reached New 
York, and for the last hour Mollie and I sat, holding 
each other’s hands, and waiting in breathless anxiety for 
we scarcely knew what. When at last the train stopped, 
and the brakeman shouted, “ all out,” we were trem- 
bling so that it was with some difficulty that we made our 
way out of the car to the brightly lighted platform. 
People pushed and jostled us. There seemed to be a 
perfect babel of voices. But nobody spoke to us ; nobody 
noticed us. We drew away a little from the noisy, 
chattering crowd, and stood waiting. The minutes 
seeemed like hours. 

“ You are sure your mother sent that telegram, Mol- 
lie,” I whispered, in a voice that sounded oddly weak and 
faint. 

“ She said she did,” Mollie returned, with chattering 


I SEEK MY FORTUNE 1 79 

teeth. “Oh, Miss Daisy! suppose nobody comes for 
us; whatever shall we do? ” 

“ But they will come; or even if there has been any 
mistake made about the telegram, you know your aunt’s 
address, of course.” 

“ No, miss, I don’t and that’s just the worst of it; I 
never thought to ask mother.” 

“ But you know your uncle’s name, and that he is a 
plumber! ” 

“Oh, yes, I know that; it’s Thomas Sheehan; I’ve 
heard mother say so.” 

“ Then, perhaps, we could find his address in the 
directory,” I suggested, with rising hope. 

“ But New York is such an awful big place,” whim- 
pered Mollie. “ Don’t you suppose there might be 
more than one Thomas Sheehan ? And then — oh. Miss 
Daisy ! we haven’t either of us got any money, and may- 
be it’s awful far to where he lives.” 

It was too true, and my heart sunk like lead at the 
thought what wretched, helpless waifs we were, to be 
sure. What would mother say if she knew her little 
girl’s predicament — dear mother, who used to worry if 
I had a toothache. 

“ Excuse me for speaking to you, but isn’t this Mollie 
West?” 

Oh, the relief of those words ! even though the voice 
was rough, and the tone not so very cordial. 

“ Yes, sir,” faltered Mollie, trying hard to stop 
trembling, but failing hopelessly. 

“ I thought you might be. Come along this way. 
Here, I’ll take your bags. Is this your friend?” he 


l 80 SILVER LININGS 

paused, abruptly. Evidently the appearance of Mollie’s 

friend caused him some astonishment. 

“ Yes, sir, it’s Miss Daisy,” stammered Mollie. 
“ Mother said Aunt Mary would take her in, and, 
and ” 

Mollie paused, too frightened to say any more. 

“ My name is Daisy Warren,” I explained, feeling 
that I must come to the front. “ I am blind, and Mollie 
has very kindly taken care of me on the journey. I am 
going to some friends to-morrow, but I didn’t like to 
trouble them so late this evening, and Mrs. West 
thought that her sister would be willing to take me in for 
the night.” 

“Oh, that’s all right!” the man interposed, good- 
humouredly. “ I’m Thomas Sheehan, and my wife and 
I’ll be glad to do what we can for you. The telegram 
said that Mollie was coming with a friend, but we didn’t 
quite understand. Come right along this way, ma’am.” 

He led the way out into the street, through a maze of 
vehicles and shouting cab-drivers, to a horse-car, into 
which he helped us, without further ceremony. He 
seemed kind and civil, but he was evidently very much 
puzzled. It had doubtless never occurred to him that 
Mollie West’s friend would prove to be a young blind 
lady. 

Oh, how terribly ashamed and humiliated I felt when 
I reflected that I actually had not the money to pay my 
car-fare. I had had some money when I left Chicago, 
but I had only been at the Garlands’ a few days when my 
purse had mysteriously disappeared, and I had been un- 
der the impression that Miss Garland had put it away 


I SEEK MY FORTUNE l8l 

for safe-keeping, as she had done with my few articles 
of jewelry and other belongings. However, Mr. Shee- 
han made no remark on the subject, and paid for us all 
without comment. The car was crowded and Mollie 
and her uncle were obliged to stand, but someone kindly 
gave me a seat, and, as I leaned wearily back in my cor- 
ner, I almost wished that we might go on and on forever, 
and that I might never have to move or explain any 
more. 

In about a quarter of an hour Mr. Sheehan touched 
my elbow, with a laconic observation, “ We’ve got to 
get out here,” and in another moment we had left the 
car, and we were walking rapidly through the cold, wet 
streets. 

We walked several blocks; then ascended a flight of 
steps, and Mr. Sheehan rang a bell. In a moment the 
door swung mysteriously open, apparently quite by 
itself, and we entered a narrow hallway. My heart 
was beating fast again with nervous dread and appre- 
hension, and my knees shook so that I could scarcely 
drag my tired feet up to the three long flights of stairs 
to the Sheehans’ apartments. The place, as I afterwards 
found, was a very respectable tenement of the better 
class, or, as Mrs. Sheehan herself called it, “ apart- 
ment house.” At the top of the third flight we paused, 
and Mr. Sheehan opened a door. 

“Here we are, Mary,” he announced, cheerfully; 
“ this is Mollie West, and this is her friend. Miss — 
Miss ” 

“ Warren,” I interposed, and I repeated the explana- 
tion I had given Mr. Sheehan. 


SILVER LININGS 


182 

Mrs. Sheehan received me very kindly, and if she felt 
any surprise at my appearance, she kept the fact to her- 
self. She kissed Mollie, assured us both we were 
heartily welcome, and then took us into a small inner 
room, where she requested us to take off our hats and 
jackets. 

“ It’s rather a small room for two,” she explained, 
apologetically, “ but, you see, there being only Mr. 
Sheehan and myself, we don’t require a very large apart- 
ment, and if you can manage to put up with small quar- 
ters for one night. Miss Warren ” 

I hastened to assure her on that point, and I added, 
with burning cheeks: 

“ Indeed, I am only too thankful to find accommoda- 
tions of any kind. It is very, very good of you to take 
me in for the night.” 

“ Oh, not at all ! ” returned Mrs. Sheehan, civilly. 
“ How is your mother, Mollie, and the children? I 
trust you left them all well.” 

It was easy to see that Mrs. Sheehan was a very dif- 
ferent person from her sister. There was a certain 
gentility — not to say haughtiness — about her, which I 
found somewhat formidable under the circumstances, 
and I could not help comparing her rather unfavourably 
with rough, generous, kindly Mrs. West. Her home, 
too, was a very different place from the Wests’ shanty. 
It was quite true that the Sheehans were looking up in 
the world. But though I was decidedly hungry, I cannot 
say that I enjoyed the hearty supper of steak, fried 
potatoes, and canned pears, half so much as I had en- 
joyed Mrs. West’s scanty, scrambling breakfast. 


I SEEK MY FORTUNE 183 

Mr. and Mrs. Sheehan were both extremely quiet 
people, and the conversation during the meal was any- 
thing but lively. Mrs. Sheehan asked Mollie a few 
questions about her family, which the poor child was 
almost too nervous and embarrassed to answer, and Mr. 
Sheehan divided hi's attention pretty evenly between his 
supper and his newspaper. As soon as we could, Mol- 
lie and I made our escape. 

“ Oh, Miss Daisy, I’m awful scared; she’s so dread- 
fully prim, I know I shall never get acquainted with 
ner,” whispered Mollie, the moment we found ourselves 
alone in our tiny bedroom. 

“ Oh, yes, you will ! ” I said, reasuringly. “ She’s a 
little prim, I know, but I am sure she means to be very 
kind.” 

“ She aint one bit like mother,” Mollie persisted. 
“ Oh, Miss Daisy! I do miss mother so, and the chil- 
dren. Just think, I never said good-bye to the children, 
and Boston’s so far away; I may not see them again in 
ever and ever so long. And I know I never can please 
Aunt Mary, she’s so awful prim and particular ; mother 
said she was. Oh, I wish, I wish ” A big sob fin- 

ished the sentence. 

Well, I soothed and comforted her as well as I 
could — no such easy task, by the way, for my own heart 
was heavy enough. Heaven knows — and we were soon 
lying side by side, in the small, narrow bed, and Mollie 
had cried herself quietly to sleep. 

I had a little private moan by myself after Mollie 
was safely in the land of dreams, but I was very tired, 
and before long my own eyes closed, and sorrow and 


SILVER LININGS 


184 

anxiety were for the time forgotten in the sound, re- 
freshing sleep. 

I slept late next morning, and when I awoke I found 
to my surprise that Mollie was no longer by my side. I 
rose at once, and began hastily putting on my clothes; 
feeling horribly afraid that I had offended the prim 
Mrs. Sheehan by sleeping so long, and rather vexed 
with Mollie for not having roused me sooner. Before I 
was half dressed, however, the door opened, and Mrs. 
Sheehan herself came in. 

“ I heard you moving about,” she explained, “ so I 
thought I would come and see if there was anything I 
could do for you.” 

“ You are very kind,” I said, heartily, “ but I can do 
everything for myself, thank you. I am sorry to be so 
late. Mollie should have called me.” 

“ I wouldn’t let her,” said my hostess, kindly; “ I 
knew the sleep would do you good. It isn’t very late ; 
only a little after eight. We are early risers, you see; 
Mr. Sheehan is obliged to go to his work by half-past 
seven. I will send Mollie to you, now.” 

I could not help being surprised at Mrs. Sheehan’s 
cordiality. The night before she had been kind, but her 
manner had certainly been frigid. I came to the con- 
clusion that she had been hearing my story from her 
niece, and that her added warmth of manner meant that 
she was sorry for me. Mollie herself confirmed this 
opinion. 

“ She aint near so bad as I thought she was,” the 
little maid explained, in an encouraging whisper, as her 
aunt went away, leaving us alone together. “ She’s 


I SEEK MY FORTUNE 
awful prim and fussy, and she told me I must never 
tell nobody here that mother and the children lived in a 
shanty; she said it would injure her social position. But 
she was real interested in you, and when I told her all 
about the Garlands, and that horrid boarder, she said it 
was a shame, and so did Mr. Sheehan. Aunt Mary 
says she’ll go with you to your friends the first thing 
this morning, and Mr. Sheehan says he’s sure Dr. Gar- 
land and that Bell man could both be arrested for try- 
ing to make out you were queer in your head.” 

I found a nice hot breakfast awaiting me. I was very 
grateful, but I could not help wishing that Mrs. Shee- 
han would not have quite so much to say about a home 
for poor blind people, in which the lady with whom she 
used to live before her marriage was deeply interested. 

“ I went there once with Miss Adams,” she remarked, 
helping me liberally to stewed potatoes as she spoke. 
“ There was a fair of some kind going on, and Miss 
Fannie took me to help wait on one of the tables. It was 
such a very comfortable place. Really, Miss Warren, 
you would be surprised to hear how nice-looking some 
of the inmates were, and so comfortable, too. One old 
lady told me she really had nothing else in this world to 
look for.” 

I murmured something to the effect that I was sure 
it must be a very comfortable place, indeed, but I felt 
the hot colour rising in my cheeks, and I reflected a 
little indignantly that Mrs. Sheehan evidently regarded 
me as an object of charity. 

It was partly with a view of undeceiving her on this 
point as speedily as possible that I requested to be con- 


i86 


SILVER LININGS 


ducted to the Morgans’ as early as Mrs. Sheehan could 
find it convenient to accompany me. I gave the ad- 
dress, and I thought Mrs. Sheehan seemed surprised, 
but she assured me that it was not very far, and a little 
before ten we all three (for of course Mollie went with 
us) started on what I felt was to be for me at least a 
very important expedition. 

It was a glorious winter morning, and as I walked 
along in the keen air and bright sunshine, my spirits 
instinctively rose. I remembered that I had been born 
in New York. How odd it seemed to be coming back 
there now under such different circumstances. I won- 
dered where my parents had lived. My real parents! 
How strange the words seemed ! I had never thought 
very much about them till lately; my life had been so 
bright and happy, and mother had made up all the 
world to me. There had even been times when I had 
been a little unhappy at the thought that there had once 
been another woman in the world, who, had she lived, 
would have had the right to claim me as her child. But 
now, in my loneliness and desolation, my heart seemed 
strangely drawn towards the thought of the parents I 
had never known, and I could not help wishing that I 
could remember more about them, and about my own 
early childhood. Our walk was rather a quiet one. 
Mrs. Sheehan pointed out a few objects of interest to 
Mollie, but she was not much of a talker, and Mollie 
herself was much too shy, and stood too deeply in awe 
of her prim aunt, to hazard a single voluntary remark. 
As for me, my own thoughts kept me busy enough. 

“ Is Mrs. Morgan at home? ” 


I SEEK MY FORTUNE 187 

We were standing in the vestibule of a handsome 
Pidvate residence, and Mrs. Sheehan addressed her ques- 
tion to the servant girl who had opened the door. 

“ What name did you say? ” 

“ Morgan, Mrs. Morgan,” repeated Mrs. Sheehan, 
in her slow, decided tones. 

“ No such person lives here.” And the girl made an 
effort to close the door. 

“ Are you quite sure this is the right address. Miss 
Warren?” Mrs. Sheehan inquired, doubtfully. 

“ Oh, yes, quite sure ! I have such a good memory; I 
never forget an address that I have once heard.” I 
spoke quickly, eagerly, but the voice somehow did not 
sound just like my own. 

“ Then perhaps Mrs. Morgan has moved away,” 
Mrs. Sheehan suggested. “ Can you tell me whether 
the family who occupy the house now have lived here 
long or not? ” 

The girl said she did not know, having only been in 
the place a few weeks. “ But,” she added, “ if you’ll 
step inside I’ll inquire.” 

We did step inside, and stood waiting in the front 
hall while the maid went upstairs to make her inquiry. I 
was trembling so that I could scarcely stand, and a hor- 
rible fear was making me sick and faint. Mollie slipped 
her kind little hand into mine, and Mrs. Sheehan put her 
arm around me, as if to keep me from falling. In a 
very few moments the girl returned. 

“ Yes,” she said, speaking in the tone of calm indif- 
ference in which one might deliver the most unimportant 
message, “ Mrs. Lemont says a family of Morgans did 


l88 SILVER LININGS 

live here, but the house was sold after the old gentleman 
died last spring. She thinks Mrs. Morgan has gone 
out West to live with a niece, but she isn’t sure about it. 
Anyway, she hasn’t been in New York since the fall, 
and she wishes she did know where Mrs. Morgan was, 
for there’s several letters come for her, and she doesn’t 
know what to do with them.” 


XVI 

MISS ADAMS ASSISTS 

M ISS WARREN, I have been to see Miss 
Adams, and she wants me to bring you 
this afternoon between five and six.” 

Mrs. Sheehan spoke in a tone of decided relief. I 
had been a member of the Sheehan household for three 
whole days, and it was not surprising that the prospect 
of speedily being able to dispose of me should have 
given the good lady genuine pleasure. I am sure I do 
not blame her in the least: both she and her husband 
had been very kind to me. 

I raised my head from the hand on which it had been 
resting, and inquired without the slightest interest: 
“ What does she want to see me for? ” 

“ Why, my dear, you surely haven’t forgotten all I 
told you this morning. Don’t you remember. Miss 
Adams is the lady who is so much interested in that 
home for poor blind people. I said I was going to see 
her about you.” 

“ Yes, oh, yes, I had forgotten; you are very kind.” 
“Don’t you feel better?” Mrs. Sheehan inquired, 
anxiously, coming close up to me, and laying her cool 
hand on my burning forehead. 

“ Oh, yes, thank you ! I am quite well. I was never 
ill, you know, I am so strong.” 

189 


190 SILVER LININGS 

I spoke dully, mechanically, but a sudden recollection 
caused me to rouse myself with a great effort. 

“ I am afraid you must think me very ungrateful,” I 
said, trying to smile. “ If I seem so dull and stupid you 
will begin to believe that the Garlands were right, and 
that there is really something wrong with my head; but 
the fact is I have felt so strangely ever since we heard 
that Mrs. Morgan had gone away. It was my last 
hope, you know, and now it seems as if nothing really 
mattered very much. Indeed, I do appreciate all you 
are doing for me, and I knpw I have been a dreadful 
bother.” 

“Oh, not at all!” Mrs. Sheehan returned in her 
calm, kind voice. “ Mr. Sheehan and I are glad to do 
anything in our power for you, but since you positively 
refuse to write to any of your friends in Chicago, and 
since you have no other friends here, why, it really does 
seem as if this home ” 

“ Yes, yes, I know,” I said hurriedly. “ I will do 
anything you think best — go anywhere you like, but 
please, please do not let my Chicago friends know.” 

“ Certainly not. I should never dream of betraying 
a confidence in such a manner. And I have done more 
than that, much as I dislike saying anything that is 
not true. I have spoken of you to Miss Adams as 
my husband’s niece, Margaret Sheehan.” 

“ That was very, very kind,” I exclaimed, with real 
gratitude this time. “ It may save trouble, and besides 
— I know I’m very foolish, but I couldn’t bear to have 
those strangers know me by my real name.” 

“ Well, Sarah seemed to think there might be adver- 


MISS ADAMS ASSISTS 191 

tisements, and that it wouldn’t do to have it known who 
you really were, so I’ve done as you all advised, though 
I don’t mind saying I dislike the whole affair from be- 
ginning to end. It’s the first lie I ever told, and it does 
trouble my conscience some.” 

Mrs. Sheehan went away to take off her hat, and my 
head dropped back on my hand again. I wondered 
vaguely what was the matter with me; why I did not 
feel more interest in my future. I was not even actively 
miserable, as I had been at the Garlands’. I felt numb 
and cold, and wretched, but that was all. Everyone 
was very kind to me, but no one seemed to understand ; 
not even good little Mollie. 

Mrs. Sheehan and I were alone that day, Mollie hav- 
ing gone for the first time to the milliner for whom she 
was to act as errand girl. In a few moments Mrs. 
Sheehan came.back and began preparing dinner. Again 
I made an effort to rouse myself. 

“ Won’t you let me help you? ” I said. “ Isn’t there 
anything that I can do? ” 

“No, I thank you. You see, I am accustomed to do 
everything myself, and I like it better.” 

I relapsed into silence once more, and Mrs. Sheehan 
went on with her work. When dinner was ready, she 
called me to come to the table. 

“ You’ll have some stew? ” she said, kindly. In her 
heart I think Mrs. Sheehan was really very sorry for 
me. 

I suppressed a shudder and murmured a faint assent, 
and my hostess thereupon proceeded to heap my plate 
with the steaming compound. 


192 


SILVER LININGS 

“You must eat a good dinner, and be strong for your 
walk this afternoon,” she said, encouragingly. “ I 
think you’ll like Miss Adams, she’s very kind.” 

“ Is she an old lady? ” I inquired, trying to show a 
little interest, though in reality I did not feel the very 
least. 

“ Oh, dear no ! she isn’t more than thirty-five, but 
she’s very religious, and very good and charitable. She 
lives alone with her mother. Mrs. Adams is a very 
sweet old lady. Miss Fannie is much interested in you. 
You must try to show her you are grateful and appre- 
ciate her kindness. She likes to have people grateful 
for what she does for them.” 

I tried hard to please Mrs. Sheehan by eating some 
dinner, but it was not easy. A lump seemed to rise in 
my throat, and choke me, ever}^ time I made an effort 
to swallow. I was afraid I really was going to be ill, 
but then, I reflected, I had never been ill in my life. 
After dinner Mrs. Sheehan sewed in silence, and I 
dozed in the rocking-chair. Mrs. Sheehan was used to 
being alone all day; it never occurred to her to make 
unnecessary remarks. At half-past four we started for 
our walk. 

The fresh, cold air seemed to clear my brain a little. 
It was the first time I had been out since our attempt to 
find Mrs. Morgan. It was some distance to Miss 
Adams’ home, and by the time we reached our destina- 
tion, I was feeling more like myself than I had done in 
days. We were admitted by a servant, who requested 
us to walk upstairs; Mrs. Sheehan tapped gently at a 
door; a languid voice said, “ Come in,” and next mo- 


MISS ADAMS ASSISTS I93 

ment we were standing in the presence of the person in 
whose hands my future destiny had been placed. 

“ Oh, good-evening, Mary,” said the same languid 
voice, as we entered the warm, flower-scented room. 
“ And is this your niece? How do you do, my dear? 
I forgot what your aunt said your name was.” 

“ Margaret,” I said, quietly; giving myself the 
baptismal name by which I had never been called. 

“Oh, yes, I remember! Margaret Sheehan. You 
may both sit down. Well, Margaret, so you are anxious 
to become a member of our home.” 

1 felt my cheeks tingling, but by a great effort I con- 
trolled my nervousness, and answered steadily, as I sank 
into the low chair to which Mrs. Sheehan had led 
me: 

“ I am anxious to do whatever my friends think best 
for me. I don’t wish to be more of a burden to anyone 
than I can help.” 

“ That is right; you show a very proper spirit,” said 
Miss Adams, approvingly. “ How old are you? ” 

“Not quite nineteen.” 

“ And you have never been in any institution before, 
your aunt tells me.” 

“ No, never.” 

“ When your parents lived I suppose there was no 
need. Mary tells me they were both killed in a rail- 
way accident. It is very sad. You must have felt it 
deeply.” 

I clenched my hands tight, and tried to still the trem- 
bling of my lips. I could not have spoken just then had 
my life depended on it. Miss Adams, however, did not 


194 SILVER LININGS 

wait for any reply. She went on in her slow, drawling 

tones : 

“ Our home is a most excellent institution. Many 
ladies belonging to our best families are deeply inter- 
ested in it. I myself have been a member of the Board 
for some years. We are rather crowded just now, but 
your case being a peculiarly sad one, I think I may be 
able to get you admitted. We are obliged to have some 
rather strict rules, but that is only proper among so 
many different types. You are not a Romanist, I 
trust? ” 

I replied that I had been brought up a Unitarian. I 
thought Miss Adams appeared to be somewhat shocked. 

“ I am sorry for that,” she said, a little sternly. “You 
will not, I am sure, obtrude any of your advanced ideas 
upon the other inmates. We are a non-sectarian in- 
stitution; still one has to be particular, you know.” 

“ I don’t think I have any advanced ideas,” I said; 
and, as I recalled mother’s gentle piety, the tears started 
to my eyes, in spite of all my efforts to keep them back. 

“ Well, I am sure I trust you have not. Perhaps if 
you are unsettled in your faith, you may get a clearer 
understanding of the true light. The Episcopal serv- 
ice is held in the chapel every Sunday afternoon. You 
will, of course, attend.” 

I said nothing, and Miss Adams went on : 

“ There are some other things which I must mention. 
Your clothes, for instance. You are rather too well- 
dressed for an inmate of an institution where it is our 
chief aim to have all the women dress in a manner suit- 
able to their station in life. I am rather surprised. 


MISS ADAMS ASSISTS 195 

Mary, that your husband’s niece should be wearing 
such expensive clothes. I consider it is in rather bad 
taste under the circumstances.” 

” It was her mother’s idea,” Mrs. Sheehan returned, 
composedly, “ but that difficulty can be easily rem- 
edied.” 

“ Yes, that is right. If she is admitted, she must 
have some simple calico dresses and white aprons. Now 
let me see, what else do I want to ask? Ah, I remem- 
ber ! Are you quite blind ? ” 

” I cannot see a ray of light,” I said, sadly. My 
blindness was beginning to seem much more of an afflic- 
tion to me now than it had done in the days of my happy 
childhood. 

” That is good — I meant it is very sad, of course, 
but we have to be very careful. Several women who 
could really see a good deal have imposed upon us. 
They pretended they could not see well enough to earn 
a living, but that was merely an excuse, I am sure. 
Were you born blind? ” 

” I have never seen since I can remember,” I an- 
swered, rather evasively. “ It was the result of an acci- 
dent.” 

” An accident? How sad ! Well, I think that is all 
I have to say. There is to be a meeting of the Board to- 
morrow morning, and I will see that your case is 
properly brought before them. You look like a respect- 
able, well-behaved young woman. Oh, there is just one 
more question that I must ask. You have no foolish 
matrimonial aspirations, I trust? ” 

“Matrimonial aspirations,” I repeated, incredulously; 


196 SILVER LININGS 

and then suddenly the absurdity of the whole situation 
struck me, and I laughed outright. In happier days I 
had had a very keen sense of the ludicrous. 

“ Well,” said Miss Adams, gravely, ‘‘ you may be 
amused, but I assure you, we have had serious diffi- 
culties with some of our women on that very account. 
We do all in our power to keep the men and women as 
much apart as possible, but in spite of our efforts, the 
most unfortunate entanglements have occurred. Why, 
only last year a couple married — actually married — and 
at the present time he grinds a hand organ, and she 
sells pencils at one of the Elevated stations. Horrible, 
is it not? ” 

“ Very,” I admitted as soberly as I could. 

“ One would suppose that persons so afflicted would 
have higher things to think of than such merely mun- 
dane affairs as love and marriage. I declare, it makes 
me shudder to think of such depravity. I always avoid 
passing that corner when I can. But I am sure you are 
not at all that style of person.” 

“ I hope not,” I said. “ At any rate, the prospect of 
selling pencils doesn’t strike me as very attractive.” 

“ Well, then, I think that is all we need say at present. 
I will let you know the decision of the Board as soon as 
possible. Your niece remains with you in the mean- 
time, I suppose, Mary.” 

“ Yes, ma’am, certainly.” 

“ Well, that is all; you may go now. I am going out 
to dinner this evening, and I must have a little rest first. 
If you should happen to meet mother on your way out, 
please tell her I do not wish to be disturbed till half-past 


MISS ADAMS ASSISTS 197 

six. Good-bye, Margaret; you are a good girl, I am 
sure, and you will be very happy at the Home.” 

We did meet “ mother ” on our way downstairs. 
Indeed, I have a suspicion that she had been hovering 
outside her daughter’s door on purpose to speak to us. 
Mrs. Sheehan stopped to bid her good-evening, and to 
deliver Miss Adams’ message. 

“ Yes, yes, I will remember,” returned the old lady, in 
a rather flurried, but, nevertheless, kindly voice. “ You 
are looking very well, Mary, very well indeed. And 
this is your niece — or, I should say, your husband’s 
niece? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am; her name is Margaret Sheehan.” 

“ Margaret Sheehan. Oh, yes ! How do you do, 
Margaret? My daughter has been telling me about 
you, and I am very sorry. It must be a terrible afflic- 
tion to be blind.” 

I felt the hysterical desire coming over me again, but 
managed to check it in time. 

“ I hope Fannie will be able to get you into the 
Home,” Mrs. Adams continued; “it’s the very best 
place for you, I suppose. I never can bear to go there 
myself; it makes my heart ache to see the poor things; 
but my daughter assures me they are all quite happy and 
comfortable.” 

“ Indeed they are,” put in Mrs. Sheehan, heartily, 
“ and it’s a beautiful place for them, too. Good-night, 
Mrs. Adams, I must be hurrying on, or my husband and 
my niece will be at home before me, and I have the key.” 

“ Yes, yes, to be sure; I won’t detain you a moment; 
but just let me get Margaret something out of the din- 


SILVER LININGS 


198 

ing-room; it won’t take any time.” And the kindly old 
lady hurried on before us down the stairs. 

She left us standing in the hall for a moment, and then 
came hurrying back. 

“ There, my dear, take these,” she said kindly, thrust- 
ing a couple of oranges into my hands. “ Just put 
them in your pocket, to eat when you get home. They 
are very nice oranges, very nice indeed. Our dear old 
friend. Miss Westlake, sent them to us from Florida. 
I hope you will be happy at the Home. It’s a beauti- 
ful place, I have no doubt, although I never could quite 
understand why the inmates should be so much better off 
there than in their own homes. Let me unfasten the 
door for you, Mary, you are not accustomed to this new 
latch ; we had it put on for fear of sneak thieves. Good- 
night both of you, good-night, good-night.” 

“Isn’t Miss Adams a little eccentric?” I inquired 
of Mrs. Sheehan, as we walked briskly homeward. 
“ She is very kind, and I am sure it is awfully good of 
her to interest herself in me, but she struck me as being 
just a little peculiar, and her mother, too.” 

“ They are both very nice ladies,” said Mrs. Sheehan, 
primly, and the subject was dropped. 


XVII 

AT “the home for DESTITUTE BLIND 




B reakfast was over at “ The Home for Desti- 
jtute Blind” and the fifty-four inmates, the 
twenty-eight women and twenty-six men, filed 
slowly out of the long dining-room, not to meet again 
till the bell should summon them to dinner at one o’clock. 
At the dining-room door, the men and women always 
separated; the former going to their workshop, the 
latter to their sitting-room on the other side of the 
house. It was a glorious spring morning. My seat 
was next the window, and I had felt the warm sunshine 
on my head. Otherwise I should not have known if 
the sun shone or the rain fell. To most of those fifty- 
four inmates winter and summer, spring and autumn, 
were one long, unbroken monotony. 

I had been an inmate of the Home for six whole 
weeks. I wore a plain calico dress and a white apron, 
and I knitted washrags to be sold at the next fair. 
Beyond that I almost felt as if I had ceased to exist. 

As I was leaving the dining-room with the others, 
Mrs. Hills, the matron, called me back. 

“ Wait one moment, Margaret, I want to speak to 
you. Where are you going?” she added, in a lower 
tone, as the rest passed out of hearing. 

“ Upstairs,” I returned, indifferently. 

“ You can’t sit up there this morning; I’m going to 


199 


200 


SILVER LININGS 
have all the dormitories thoroughly cleaned. Why do 
you never sit down here with the others? ’’ 

“ It’s so much quieter upstairs,” I returned, wearily; 
“ besides I like being by myself.” 

“ But that’s very foolish,” said the matron, not un- 
kindly. “ I’ve been meaning to speak to you about it 
for some time. You are making a great mistake in 
keeping so much to yourself; you are making enemies.” 

“ Enemies,” I repeated, in astonishment; “ why in the 
world should I make enemies? I never interfere with 
anyone.” 

“But you keep away from everyone; you are not 
sociable. The girls don’t like it. They say you are 
putting on airs, and don’t consider them good enough 
company for you. It makes no difference to me, of 
course; it’s only for your own sake that I speak.” 

“ I’m sorry they feel so,” I said, colouring; “ I’m sure 
I never thought of such a thing. I have kept to myself 
because I am unhappy, that’s all.” 

“ Yes, dear, I dare say, but you see, they don’t under- 
stand. There’s no use in making enemies if one can 
help it; so, as long as you can’t sit upstairs this morning, 
you may as well go into the sitting-room with the others, 
and try to get acquainted a little. They’re not bad 
girls, half of them.” 

Mrs. Hills bustled away to attend to her numerous 
household duties, and I moved slowly on in the wake of 
the other women. Mrs. Hills was a well-meaning soul ; 
I knew she had spoken out of pure kindness, and yet I 
shrank instinctively from the noisy, chattering crowd 
of women and girls. 


201 


“home for the blind” 

Arrived at the women’s sitting-room, a large, plainly 
furnished apartment on the ground floor, I sat down 
quietly on the end of one of the long, low benches which 
ran along one side of the room. Most of the women 
had already assembled, and were getting out their knit- 
ting and other work for the day. I had hoped that no 
one would notice my entrance, and that I should be 
spared the necessity of joining in any conversation, but I 
had not been seated two minutes when a wrinkled hand 
touched mine, and a quavering voice inquired, close at 
my side : 

“ Is that you, Mary Green? ” 

“ No,” I answered as pleasantly as I could, for I had 
recognised the voice as belonging to old Catherine 
Hoffman, the oldest inmate of the Home. “ I am 
Margaret Sheehan, the new girl; is there anything I can 
do for you? ” 

“ No, dearie, no — that is, unless you’d like to hold 
some yarn for me. Mary Green does it most days, but 
she don’t seem to be here, just now.” 

“ I will do it for you, with pleasure,” I said, remem- 
bering Mrs. Hills’ instructions, and remembering, too, 
that someone had told me that this poor old woman had 
actually been an inmate of that dreary place for more 
than thirty years. 

Catherine accepted my offer merely by a grunt of 
acquiescence, but as the soft yarn slipped through my 
fingers, and she observed that I held it carefully, and did 
not let it snarl, her opinion of my powers apparently 
rose and she vouchsafed to become more conversa- 
tional. 


202 SILVER LININGS 

“ They say you aint very sociable here,” she observed 
by way of prelude ; “ I never hear you talking and laugh- 
ing with the others.” 

“ I have had a great deal of trouble lately,” I ex- 
plained, anxious to dispel the theory of my supposed 
haughtiness. “ I haven’t felt like talking and laughing 
with anyone since I have been here.” 

“ A great deal of trouble,” the woman repeated some- 
what sceptically. “ Most of ’em says that when they 
first come, but lor’ bless you ! they get over it soon 
enough. There aint a better Home nor this, not as I 
know of anyway.” 

“ Perhaps not,” I assented meekly, “ but then you see 
I have never been in an institution of any kind before, 
and that makes a difference.” 

“ Never been in an institution before ! Well, that’s 
nothing. No more had I till I come here. No more 
had most of ’em, except them as was brought up in the 
schools. Good land! didn’t I think I was unhappy 
enough when I first come, and no wonder, what with my 
husband and my two children being all killed in one 
night in a terrible steamboat explosion, and my own 
two eyes put out at the same time. I guess I thought 
the good Lord clean forgot me that time ; but, bless your 
heart! I hadn’t been here long before I was just as 
happy and comfortable as could be. I never had such 
good food and such a good bed before in my life. 
While my husband and children was alive it was scrape, 
scrape, scrape, from one year’s end to another. I know 
how to appreciate my privileges.” 

“You have been here a long time, haven’t you?” 


“home for the blind” 203 
I inquired, beginning to feel some interest in the queer 
old woman, who appeared to be something of a philoso- 
pher in her way. 

“ Going on thirty-five years,” she returned, proudly, 
“ and theyVe been the very best years of my life, so far 
as good solid comfort goes. Fm seventy-six years old, 
but I aint near ready to die yet. When them silly girls 
gets talking and complaining the way they do, I just ask 
them where they think they will find more comfortable 
beds, and better food, too. None of your rich messes, 
to give ’em the dyspepsie, but good plain food, such as is 
good for everyone. There’s that Lizzie Maxwell, 
now, the most complainingest girl here; do you know 
where she came from? ” 

I replied that I had no idea. 

“ Well, I’ll tell you, and I don’t care who hears me 
neither, for it’s the truth. That girl was took off the 
Island, where they sent her from the school, along of 
her not having any folks to look after her. To hear her 
talk, you’d think she’d been born in a palace. Such 
things make me sick.” 

I said nothing, and my companion also relapsed into 
silence. I found myself wondering whether I too 
should by and by sink into that state of dull, monotonous 
content and even be thankful that the beds were com- 
fortable and the food wholesome. But then I was not 
seventy-six years old. 

Catherine had several balls of yarn to wind, and, as I 
protested, my willingness to help her, she kept me busy 
for the next half hour. She was not much of a talker, 
except when her spirit of indignation was aroused, and I 


204 SILVER LININGS 

soon found myself listening with some interest to the 
conversation of the other women. It was the first time 
I had sat among them, except at meals, since I had been 
admitted to the Home, and indeed holding Catherine’s 
yarn was the first voluntary service I had performed for 
anyone in the institution. 

“Anyone coming to read this morning?” inquired 
someone, with a yawn. 

“ Yes, it’s Tuesday. That’s Mrs. Lester’s day, aint 
it?” 

“Mrs. Lester? Yes, to be sure; wonder if she’ll 
come.” 

“ I hope she will,” observed a rather pleasant voice, 
which I recognised as that of Catherine’s friend, Mary 
Green. “ I like that story she’s reading first-rate, and 
she left off in a real interesting place.” 

“ Mrs. Lester aint so bad as some of them,” re- 
marked Lizzie Maxwell, in her shrill, high-pitched 
tones. “ She don’t read tracts, anyway. Some of 
them seem to think that, because we’re blind and objects 
of charity, we’ve got to be preached to all the time. I 
wonder how they’d like it themselves. Nasty, stuck-up 
old things ! I suppose they think they’re doing us a 
great favour to come at all. I wish for my part they’d 
all stay away. There’s that Adams woman. I feel as 
if I’d just like to choke her sometimes, when she comes 
talking all that sentimental nonsense.” 

“ You’d better shut-up, Lizzie Maxwell,” called out 
Catherine, sharply. “ Miss Adams is a lady, anyway, 
which is more nor you’ll ever be. Attend to your own 
business, and leave your betters alone.” 


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“home for the blind” 205 

I fully expected that this reproof would call forth a 
furious retort from the sharp-tongued Lizzie, but, to my 
surprise, she merely gave vent to an indignant sniff and 
then relapsed into silence. The fact was all the women 
stood a good deal in awe of old Catherine. 

“ They don’t all read tracts,” remarked Mary Green, 
pleasantly. “ There’s Mrs. Lester now, she reads real 
nice stories.” 

“ By the way, didn’t Mrs. Lester say she was going 
to bring a friend of hers to sing for us the next time she 
came? ” inquired one of the women. 

“ She won’t do it, you may bet your life on that,” 
snapped Lizzie. “ She’ll say she forgot. They always 
say they forget, or else that their friends are sick, or 
have gone South, or something like that! The ones 
who really can sing won’t come, and the ones who do 
come squall like cats. Do you remember the one that 
came last year, and wouldn’t sing anything but hymns, 
because it was Lent? I asked her if she didn’t think 
we had Lent enough all the year, and Mrs. Hills 
lectured me for being impertinent. Oh, dear! how I 
do hate it all ! ” 

“ Maybe you’d rather be selling pencils, as poor 
Annie Lorson is doing now,” observed another woman, 
with a coarse laugh. 

Just then someone went to the piano and began to 
drum. The constant drumming on that piano was one 
of the things that I found very hard to endure. 
Catherine had finished her winding, and I rose promptly, 
murmuring something about going upstairs for my 
work. Catherine made no objection, but, as I was leav- 


206 SILVER LININGS 

ing the room, I heard one of the girls inquire in a tone 

of astonishment: 

“ Was that Margaret Sheehan, that just went 
out? ’’ 

“ Yes,” returned Catherine; “ she’s been holding my 
yarn for me.” 

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed another voice; “I 
wonder what’s come over her. She isn’t so fond of 
favouring us with her company, as a rule. I wonder if 
she’ll tell her friend Miss Adams what you said about 
her, Lizzie? ” 

“ Don’t care if she does,” responded Miss Maxwell, 
indifferently. “ Miss Adams can’t hurt me, nor her 
spying, stuck-up friends neither.” 

I heard no more, for at that moment the door bell 
rang, and I hurried away, anxious to avoid meeting 
anyone. 

I found the room — which I shared with three of the 
other women — all in confusion, and was sharply bidden 
by the maid, who was cleaning, to go downstairs, and 
stay there, too; so, after lingering a few moments to find 
my knitting — which had been mislaid in the general 
disorder — I turned away with a sigh, and went wearily 
down again. But as I was crossing the long corridor, 
that led to the sitting-room, I paused, arrested by the 
sound of music. It was not the kind of music I had 
been hearing all day long for the past six weeks. Some- 
one was at the piano, it is true, but I felt sure it was not 
one of the inmates, and, as I stood listening, the person, 
whoever it was, began to sing. 

It was a woman’s voice, so sweet and tender, that 


“home for the blind” 207 
involuntarily I drew nearer to the open sitting-room 
door. I had loved music so dearly in the old days, and 
it was such a long dreary age since I had heard any. 
It was not a wonderful voice in any way, only sweet and 
sympathetic, and the ballad was a very simple one. 
How it was I did not know then — I do not know now — 
but, as I stood listening to that clear young voice, my 
heart was suddenly filled with such a longing for love 
and sympathy as I had never felt before. I did not go 
into the sitting-room again, but stood just outside the 
door, drinking in every note, every word, for the lady 
sang in English, and the words were very distinct. 

Two little friendless children, 

Comrades for more than a year; 

She sold flowers at a doorstep 
He swept a crossing near. 

He was a merry-faced laddie, 

Brimfull of mischief and fun; 

She was a winsome lassie, 

Her head kissed gold by the sun. 

And when the lights of the city 
Told that the evening had come. 

She would tell him a wonderful story 
Of a beautiful Kingdom called Home.” 

At the close of the ballad there was a burst of ap- 
plause. “ That’s lovely! ” “ That’s just beautiful 

was heard on all sides. Then followed an eager chorus, 
“ Do sing us another; do, please.” 

The lady paused for a moment, as if uncertain what 


2o8 silverlinings 

to sing next ; then she began to prelude again. I listened 
to the first few bars; then suddenly my heart gave a 
great bound, and I caught my breath in one quick, con- 
vulsive sob. She was going to sing mother’s favourite 
ballad, 

“ He was a Punchinello, 

Sweet Columbine was sheP 

I waited to hear no more. With a low moan that 
nobody heard, I turned and fled. It was as though 
someone had probed a sharp knife into a still open 
wound; I ran on blindly, neither knowing nor caring 
where I went, until my head, coming into violent con- 
tact with an open door, brought me to a sudden stand. 
The blow was a severe one, and for a moment I was 
almost stunned. Then I recovered myself, and moved 
slowly on, pressing my hand to my aching temple, but at 
the foot of the stairs I paused, remembering the maid’s 
sharp words. Where could I go ? What could I do ? 
I felt that I must be alone to have my cry out. That 
terrible choking sensation in my throat was almost kill- 
ing me. Then suddenly all my strength seemed to give 
way, and I sank down on the lowest stair, and sat there 
rocking back and forth, sobbing in a perfect tempest of 
grief. 

“My poor child! what is it? what is the mat- 
ter?” 

At the sound of the kind, sweet voice at my side, the 
touch of the soft little hand on mine, I started as if I 
had been shot. I had not the remotest idea how long 



“ ‘ He was a Punchinello^ 

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‘‘home for the blind” 209 
I had been sitting there. I struggled to my feet and 
began a frantic search for my pocket-handkerchief. 

“ What’s the matter, Margaret? ” Mrs. Hills’ voice 
inquired somewhat sternly. “ Can’t you answer the lady 
when she speaks to you ? ” 

“ There’s nothing the matter,” I returned, evasively; 
“ only I bumped my head.” 

I made an effort to push past the matron and her 
companion, but an exclamation from the latter caused 
me to pause, feeling giddy and sick. 

“ Look, oh, look, Mrs. Hills ! See that dreadful 
bruise on her forehead. It is turning quite black, 
already. Oh, you poor child, this is terrible I ” And 
before I could prevent her she had thrown an arm 
protectingly around me. 

“How did it happen, Margaret?” Mrs. Hills in- 
quired, not unkindly. Before I could reply, however, 
the stranger interposed: 

“ Never mind how it happened. Don’t you see she’s 
trembling all over? It must have been a dreadful blow. 
Pond’s Extract is the best thing, if you have any.” 

“ Yes, I have, in my room. If you don’t mind my 
leaving you for a moment, I will be back directly. 
Come, Margaret.” 

“ I will come with you,” said my new acquaintance, 
decidedly. “ I am accustomed to bumps and bruises; my 
little girl is always getting them.” 

Mrs. Hills made no objections, and we all went up- 
stairs together, the strange lady still holding my arm. 
Arrived at the matron’s room Mrs. Hills produced the 
required articles, and my new acquaintance, placing me 


210 


SILVER LININGS 
in the rocking-chair, proceeded to bathe my forehead 
as carefully and tenderly as if I had been the little girl 
of whom she spoke. 

“ There ! It won’t be so very bad, after all,” she 
said, cheerfully. “ The swelling is going down a little 
already. You’d better keep quiet for a while; I am 
sure your head aches.” 

“ Yes, it does, a little,” I admitted. And then, with 
a sudden rush of gratitude, I added, “ You are very, 
very kind; I don’t know how to thank you.” 

“ Nonsense,” said the lady, laughing. “ I am so 
glad it was nothing worse than a bumped head. When 
I first saw you I was afraid you were in some dreadful 
trouble.” 

Something in the sweet, kind voice seemed to invite 
confidence. I did not want her to think me such a baby 
as to be crying my heart out over a bump. 

“ I am in trouble,” I said, impulsively; “ that is, I am 
very lonely and very unhappy. I had been feeling dull 
and miserable all the morning and — and then you 
began that song.” 

“ What song do you mean, dear? ” 

“ The one about Punchinello and Columbine. It 
was my mother’s favourite ballad; I had never heard it 
since she sang it to me.” 

“ Margaret hasn’t been with us very long, and she 
naturally feels a little homesick at times,” Mrs. Hills 
explained, apologetically. “ She’ll be all right in a 
little while.” 

“ Would you mind leaving me with this little girl for 
a few moments? ” the lady asked, rather eagerly. “ I 


lit 


“home for the blind“ 
don’t want to detain you, for I know you are busy, but I 
have promised to wait for my friend Mrs. Lester, who 
is reading downstairs, and I should like to have a little 
talk with Margaret, if you have no objections.” 

“ Very well, ma’am,” said the matron, a little stiffly. 
“ I will come back for you in a few moments.” 

“ Now, my dear,” the lady began, as the matron left 
the room, “ I want to ask you a few questions — that is, 
if you will let me — and first of all, will you tell me your 
name? ” 

“ Margaret Sheehan,” I replied, without the slightest 
hesitation. 

The stranger was silent for a moment, and when 
she spoke next all the eagerness had gone out of her 
voice, although it was still very kind. 

“ Margaret Sheehan — and have you been here 
long?” 

“ No, not very.” 

“ And you are not happy? Why did you come ? ” 

“ Because there was nowhere else for me to go. My 
father and mother were dead, and — and I didn’t want 
to be a burden to my friends.” 

“ You have friends, then? ” 

“Oh, yes; my — aunt — Mrs. Sheehan, brought me 
here. She was very good to me, but I couldn’t let her 
support me; she is a poor woman.” 

“ I think I understand,” said the lady, kindly. 
“ Everything here is different from what you have been 
accustomed to. These people are not congenial to you. 
You miss your home and friends, and you are very 
lonely and sad.” 


212 SILVER LININGS 

I nodded; I could not speak just then; she was SO 
kind, so sympathetic ; I longed to tell her everything, to 
pour out my whole heart to her, stranger as she was, but 
a kind of shy pride held me back. My mother had 
come of good old New England Stock, and I had 
inherited all a New England woman’s natural re- 
serve. 

“ I am so sorry for you,” the stranger went on, in 
her sweet, kind voice; “ I wish I could say something to 
comfort you, but it is so hard to know just the right 
things to say to people. If you don’t mind, though, I 
will give you a receipt that a dear old friend once gave 
me, when I was feeling very lonely and unhappy. She 
said ‘ Keep busy, keep busy all day long. Don’t waste 
precious time in brooding over what can’t be helped, but 
try to think of something that you can do for somebody 
else, and you will be surprised to find how much easier 
and more bearable life will seem.’ That was good 
practical advice, and I tried to follow it after a fashion, 
though I can’t say I was always successful. My friend 
tried it most successfully, though. She was one of the 
sweetest, brightest women I ever knew, and yet she had 
lost her husband and three children and was quite alone 
in the world.” 

“ There is no one that I can help here,” I said, 
drearily. “ They don’t any of them care about me.” 

“ Perhaps not yet; you say you haven’t been here very 
long. I saw some very nice, intelligent-looking women 
downstairs. . I am sure you could make some good 
friends here, if you would try.” 

“But there is nothing that I can do for them,” I 


“home for the blind” 213 
persisted ; “ they all get on very well together, they don’t 
need me.” 

“ Oh, yes, they do; or they will when they know you. 
It’s really wonderful how much we need people in this 
world; we never find it out till we try. As for doing 
things for them; why, just talk to them, if you can’t do 
anything else. Ask them about their troubles; show 
that you are interested in what they tell you. It may 
be hard at first, but you will be surprised to find how 
well it will work in the end. I’ve had my dark days, 
too, you see, so I can speak from experience.” 

” But I’m sure you never had troubles like mine,” I 
said, still unconvinced. 

“ Not precisely like yours, perhaps, but I thought 
them black enough at the time. Heaven knows. Still, 
every cloud has a silver lining, as my dear father used to 
say, and after a while I found the silver lining to my 
cloud, just as you will to yours by and by. But here 
comes Mrs. Hills, and I must be going, I suppose, or my 
friend will be getting impatient. Good-bye, Margaret. 
Perhaps some day we shall meet again; I hope we shall, 
for then you can tell me the result of your experiment, 
and I know you are going to make one. And remember 
one thing, little girl, to lose our dear ones by death isn’t 
always the most terrible thing that can happen. It is 
very dreadful, I know, but there are other things that 
are worse, far worse. To lose those we care for in 
other ways — not to know what has become of them — to 
feel that they may be lonely and suffering, and yet to be 
unable to help them ” 

The sweet young voice quivered and broke suddenly. 


214 SILVER LININGS 

and without another word she turned and left the room 

hurriedly with Mrs. Hills. 

“ What did you say to that lady, Margaret, after I 
left the room? ” inquired the matron, rather sharply, 
returning some ten minutes later. 

“ She asked me about myself, and I told her, and then 
she talked to me very, very kindly. Who is she, Mrs. 
Hills ? What is her name ? ” 

“ I don’t know her name; Mrs. Lester did mention it, 
but you know I’m a little deaf, and I didn’t quite catch 
it. Anyway, she’s a friend of Mrs. Lester’s, and Mrs. 
Lester is a member of our Board of Managers. I 
shouldn’t like to have it get about that one of the girls 
was found crying as if her heart would break for no 
other reason than because she was homesick. It might 
reflect unfavourably on me and on the Institution.” 

“ I don’t believe that lady will make any complaints. 
I explained to her just how things were, and I think she 
understood.” I spoke more cheerfully than I had done 
in weeks. That bright, kindly little woman had cheered 
me up wonderfully. 

Mrs. Hills was mollified. 

” Well, she is a very pretty, sweet-looking young lady, 
I must say,” she admitted, “ and she certainly does sing 
beautifully. It was very kind of her to come. I am 
going downstairs again now, but you stay here till your 
head feels better, if you like. It’s quieter for you, and 
the dormitories won’t be in order before the after- 
noon.” 

I was glad to avail myself of this permission. I 
wanted to be alone, to think over all that my new ac- 


“home for the blind” 215 
quaintance had said. How I did hope that she would 
come again ! I wondered who she was, and what her 
trouble could possibly be, for that she was suffering 
from some sorrow, her last words had seemed to imply. 
She had spoken of her little girl, so she must be married. 
Was her husband unkind to her? Had something 
dreadful happened to him ? She had spoken of losing 
someone dear to her in some other way than death. 
Perhaps she had a sister who had eloped, and then dis- 
appeared. I had heard of such things in books. It 
was an interesting field for conjecture, and, moreover, 
it was the very first time since I had been in the Home 
that I had felt the slightest interest in the affairs of any 
other human being but myself. 

Truth to tell, my own affairs had been absorbing 
enough, and even yet I felt very far from secure from 
discovery by Dr. Garland and his friend. Those gentle- 
men had not by any means given up their search. Only 
the day before I had had a call from Mollie, who had 
told me that her mother was still receiving calls from 
Dr. Garland, who, however, thanks to her skilful man- 
agement, still believed her in total ignorance of my 
whereabouts. How the good woman ever played her 
part so well I cannot imagine. She must have been a 
born actress, and would have probably made her fortune 
on the stage. 

“ I do believe I shall have to dye my hair white 
soon,” she wrote to Mollie, “ for the way I have to 
pretend to be pining and fretting with anxiety about not 
hearing from you is enough to make my father’s hair 
stand on end with horror, if he was alive and knew about 


2i6 silver linings 

it. I shall have to take something to make me thin, or 

the doctor will begin to suspect I’m shamming.” 

Dr. Bell had not again appeared on the scene, and of 
George Mrs. West had heard nothing. I did not feel 
any special compunction about causing either Dr. Gar- 
land or George any amount of trouble or anxiety, but 
the thing that did trouble me sometimes was the thought 
that Rose might possibly be suffering on my account. 
If I had known of any way of letting her know of my 
safety I would certainly have employed it, but well did I 
remember how impossible it was for Rose to keep a 
secret from her husband. Lonely and unhappy as I 
was at the Home, I had no desire to change my locality 
for any place of my brother-in-law’s choosing, and she 
could easily be made to believe any story about me which 
it might please George to invent. I was quite alone in 
the world, I reflected bitterly; of no use to anyone, 
cared for by no one, and the sooner I died and escaped 
from it all the better it would be. At least that was 
what I had thought until Mrs. Lester’s friend had 
spoken those words of hope and cheer. 

I did not go away upstairs by myself that day after 
dinner, but went into the sitting-room with the others, 
and, resolutely seating myself beside Mary Greene, one 
of the youngest and most approachable of the women, 
began a conversation by inquiring if she had not enjoyed 
the lady’s singing that morning. 

• “ Oh, wasn’t it just lovely? ” exclaimed the girl, rap- 
turously, “ and wasn’t she sweet and kind? She came 
round and shook hands with every one of us before she 
left.” 


217 


“home for the blind” 

“ Did she ever come before? ” I asked. 

“ No, never, but I do hope she’ll come again. I am 
so fond of music, real music, I mean, and I never hear 
any now.” 

“ I’ll play for you, if you like,” I said, impulsively. 
“ I have not played in some time, but I used to love it 
dearly. Do you think the others would like it, 
too?” 

“ Oh, I’m sure they would ! They all like music, 
though some of them do sing those horrid street songs. 
They call that music, but I don’t. You see, my father 
used to play the violin real well, and I was so fond of 
that. He was blind, too, and I think he cared more 
about music than he did about anything else. I didn’t 
know you played, but I’m real glad. Would you mind 
playing something now, right away?” 

I professed my willingness, and Mary, raising her 
voice, announced to the assembled company: ‘‘Miss 
Sheehan’s going to play something for us.” 

There was a sudden pause in the general conversation, 
which was followed by a subdued murmur, among which 
I caught the words, spoken in Miss Maxwell’s high- 
pitched tones: 

“ I bet she don’t know how, really; she’s just trying to 
show off.” 

However, no one made any objection aloud, and 
Mary led me to the piano in triumph. My heart beat 
rather fast, and I had to wink back the tears, as my 
fingers touched the keys. It was the first time I had 
touched a piano since leaving Chicago; the Garlands 
having no such article pf furpiture in their house, It 


2i8 silver linings 

was hard work at first, but I remembered Mrs. Lester’s 

friend, and really made an effort. 

I played one of Mendelssohn’s “ Songs Without 
Words,” and when I paused at the conclusion, I was 
greeted by a chorus of approval, followed by a request 
for something more. So I played a waltz of Chopin’s, 
which apparently pleased my audience even more. 

“ I declare, you can play fine,” observed Lizzie Max- 
well, joining me at the piano, and speaking in a tone of 
good-humoured patronage. “ I had no idea you could 
do it so well. You must learn ‘ Annie Rooney,’ and 
‘ Maggie Murphy’s Home,’ and then you can play our 
accompaniments. It’s mighty hard work to play ac- 
companiments and sing at the same time.” 

“Do you know, I like you first-rate?” exclaimed 
Mary Green, in a sudden burst of confidence, as we went 
upstairs together that evening. “ I thought you were 
horrid and stuck up, and you’re not a bit, really. You’re 
only shy, just as I used to be when I first came four years 
ago. It was lovely of you to play for us so nice; lots of 
the girls were saying to-night how much they enjoyed 
it.” 

I fell asleep that night with a lighter heart than I 
had known in many a long day, and an inward resolu- 
tion that, if ever it should lie in my power to do that kind 
little friend of Mrs. Lester’s a service of any kind, I 
would do it, let the cost be what it might. 


XVIII 

A CHANGE OF AIR 

S HE needs a change of air, and change of 
scene. If you don’t get her away some- 
where out of this intolerable heat, and do 
something to rouse her from that languor and indiffer- 
ence to everything about her, she’ll go into a decline be- 
fore you know it.” 

I knew the speaker to be Dr. Clark, the busy phy- 
sician who condescended to bestow a couple of hours 
each week, free of charge, upon the inmates of The 
Home for Destitute Blind. The person to whom he 
addressed himself was the matron, Mrs. Hills. They 
both spoke in low voices, but I distinctly heard every 
word they said. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know what to do about it,” said 
Mrs. Hills, in somewhat troubled tones. “ You see, we 
don’t send our girls away in summer, unless their friends 
take them. People don’t like to be bothered with the 
care of a blind person — that is to say, strangers 
don’t.” 

“ Hasn’t she any friends or relations in the country, 
who would be willing to take her for a few weeks? ” 

“ I think not. She has an aunt, who comes to see her 
once in a while, but she never seems to do much for 
her.” 

“ Who got her admitted here? ” 

219 


220 SILVER LININGS 

“ Miss Adams, one of our Lady Managers.’* 

“ Well, why not speak to Miss Adams on the subject? 
If she has any interest in the girl, she may do some- 
thing. Now, I must be off, but I’ll drop in again to- 
morrow for a moment, just to see how things are getting 
on. Be careful what you give your people to eat in 
this hot weather; there’s a great deal of sickness in 
town.” 

They both moved away from my bedside, and in 
another moment I was alone. It was July now. For 
more than six months I had been an inmate of the 
Home. People said it was the hottest summer for 
twenty-five years. I had gotten on fairly well during 
the spring and early summer, but my overtaxed nervous 
system had given way at last, and one broiling afternoon 
I had suddenly collapsed, and fainted in the sitting- 
room. I had been carried to the infirmary and had lain 
there ever since; not actually suffering, but simply 
apathetic. 

Dr. Clark’s words did not trouble me in the least. 
Indeed the prospect of slipping quietly and painlessly 
out of life, as I seemed to be doing — struck me as rather 
pleasant. I was so tired of always being sad and 
lonely. 

I was not left long in solitude, however, for a very 
few moments after Mrs. Hills and the doctor had gone, 
I heard a soft footstep beside my bed, which I at once 
recognised as Mary Green’s. 

“Is that you, Mary?” I inquired, feebly. I liked 
Mary better than anyone at the Home. 

“ Yes, I just came up to see if you wouldn’t like a 


ACHANGEOFAIR 12I 

book to read. Some new ones came from the institution 
yesterday, and they look real nice. You’re so fond of 
reading, you know.” 

Mary’s voice trembled a little, although she evidently 
made an effort to speak cheerfully. 

” No, I thank you; I couldn’t read to-day; my hands 
shake so, and I feel too tired to hold those heavy books. 
What did they send this time? ” 

” Oh, ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and ‘ Andersen’s Fairy 
Tales,’ and a real nice one that looks like a story — ‘ The 
Marble Faun,’ a great big one, in three volumes. Liz- 
zie Maxwell began the first volume, and she says It’s 
about Rome. She was awful nice, for she told me to 
tell you that you might read It first, if you liked.” 

“ Sit down, and talk to me,” I said. “ I haven’t seen 
anyone to-day, except Mrs. Hills and Dr. Clark.” 

” Maggie Sullivan and Emma Lownd both wanted 
to come up this morning, but Mrs. Hills wouldn’t let 
them,” Mary explained, seating herself In the rocker 
by my bedside. “ She said she was afraid they’d talk 
too much, and make you worse.” 

” What’s the matter, Mary? Your voice sounds as 
if you had been crying. Has Lizzie been saying unkind 
things to you again ? ” 

“Lizzie? Oh, goodness, no! She’s been real nice 
ever since you were taken sick; she hasn’t said a single 
horrid thing to anyone.” 

“ Then, what Is the matter? ” I persisted; “ I know 
you’ve been crying.” 

“Matter? Why, nothing at all Honestly and 
truly there Isn’t.” 


222 


SILVER LININGS 


I said no more; then there was a short pause, which 
Mary broke : 

“ Say, Margaret, dear, won’t you try and get up to- 
morrow? ” 

“ Get up? Why, I don’t know; I think I m more 
comfortable here, and I don’t bother anyone much.” 

Mary laid a timid, trembling hand on mine, and 
stroked it softly for a moment in silence. 

“Has Mrs. Hills been talking to you?” I asked, 
quietly. “ Did she tell you what the doctor said? ” 

Mary said nothing, but I felt her fingers twitch con- 
vulsively. 

“ You needn’t be afraid to tell me, Mary, for I heard 
every word myself. They thought I was asleep, but I 
wasn’t.” 

“ Oh, Margaret, you didn’t! ” The exclamation was 
almost a sob. 

“ Don’t cry, Mary; I don’t mind, I really don’t. If I 
died, it would be the very easiest way out of things.” 

“Oh, hush, Margaret! don’t talk like that; you 
mustn’t really, it’s wicked, you know. Besides, you’re 
not going to die, I know you’re not. The doctor says 
all you need is change of air, and you’ve got to have it 
somehow. I don’t know how exactly, but it’s got to be 
managed.” 

I suppressed an involuntary shudder; I had not the 
least desire for change of any kind. Still, I was touched 
by Mary’s evident distress. She was such a quiet, un- 
demonstrative person, I had no idea she cared so much 
about me. 

“ You are very kind to bother,” I said, wearily, “ but 


A CHANGE OF AIR 223 

really if you knew how I dread the thought of moving — 
I would so much rather stay here, and if I die — well, it 
doesn’t matter much.” 

“ But it does matter, it matters a great deal,” re- 
turned Mary, with unusual animation. “ Nobody 
wants to die really when the time comes, and besides, 
we’d all be so sorry. You have no idea how fond the 
girls are of you, or how they’ve missed you since you’ve 
been upstairs. Why, even Lizzie said last night she 
thought it was a mean shame you should be sick, and 
they won’t any of them play the piano or sing duets, for 
fear of disturbing you.” 

“ They are all very kind; I had no idea they cared.” 

“Cared!” repeated Mary, with some indignation; 
“ of course they care. Why, there isn’t a person in the 
Home who’d be missed as much as you would. Just 
think of the beautiful things you play for us, and the 
interesting stories you tell us. Sallie Bates said the 
other day that it hadn’t seemed like the same place since 
you’d been up here.” 

“ But Mrs. Hills told me once that the girls didn’t 
like me; that they thought me cold and stuck up.” 

“ That was only just at first when you were so shy. 
Then all of a sudden you changed, and you’ve been per- 
fectly lovely ever since. I remember the very first time 
you played for us; it was the day that friend of Mrs. 
Lester’s came to sing.” 

“ I remember, too,” I said eagerly. “ She never came 
again. I kept hoping for a long time that she would, 
but I don’t suppose she ever will now.” 

“ Well, you see, Mrs. Lester went to Europe pretty 


124 Silver linings 

soon after that, and I suppose her friend didn’t care 
about coming without her.” Mary invariably found 
excuses for people, and never dreamed of complaining 
of her lot in life. 

“ I should have liked to see her again,” I said, sadly. 
“If she ever should come, I wish you would tell her 
how much good she did me that day — how grateful I 
was to her. I think it might please her to know.” 

“ Why can’t you tell her yourself? ” inquired Mary, 
anxiously. 

I was saved the necessity of a reply, for at that mo- 
ment Mrs. Hills entered the room, and sent Mary away 
downstairs, with the curt observation that I was not to 
talk too much. 

That evening I had a call from Mrs. Sheehan. I 
believe Mrs. Hills had sent for her, although she pre- 
tended she had merely dropped in to read a letter from 
Mollie. Mollie’s employer, the milliner, had estab- 
lished a summer branch of her business at Newport, and 
had taken Mollie with her to help in the shop. The 
little maid had found a kind friend in the good-natured 
milliner, and her letter was brimming over with praises 
of “ Mademoiselle Mathilde ” — otherwise Miss 
Matilda Jones — and with delight in her new surround- 
ings. Mrs. Sheehan was as calm and unemotional as 
ever, but I thought she, too, seemed a little troubled 
about me. 

• “ Mrs. Hills tells me that the doctor thinks you ought 
to have a change,” she observed, as she folded up Mol- 
lie’s letter, and put it in her pocket. “ I wish I knew 
of some place to send you, but I’m afraid I don’t.” 


ACHANGEOFAIR 225 

I hastened to assure her that I had not the slightest 
desire for a change of any kind, and was quite com- 
fortable where I was. 

“ You see, it isn’t only the money for the journey that 
bothers me,” Mrs. Sheehan went on in her cold practical 
way, ‘‘ but there’d be the board to pay wherever you 
went. I have a cousin living in Connecticut on a farm, 
but she has a large family of her own to look after. Be- 
sides, I’m sure Mr. Sheehan would never give me the 
money.” 

“ Of course not,” I said, with decision. “ You 
and your husband have done a great deal for 
me, already; I shouldn’t think of accepting such a 
thing.” 

“ If Mollie was only here now,” Mrs. Sheehan pro- 
ceeded, quite ignoring my remark, “ I might manage 
to send you both oft on some excursions to Coney Island 
or Pleasure Bay. I couldn’t very well take you myself; 
Mr. Sheehan never allows me to go on those crowded ex- 
cursion boats.” 

“ Mr. Sheehan is very fond of you, isn’t he? ” I said, 
cheerfully; anxious to turn the conversation away from 
myself. 

“He is my husband,” returned my visitor, primly; 
“ he merely does his duty.” 

“ I’m afraid all husbands don’t do their duty then,” 
I said, laughing. “ By the way, have you heard from 
Mrs. West lately? ” 

“ I had a letter a few days ago. She says Dr. Gar- 
land has not been to see her in some time; she has an 
idea he has given up the search.” 


226 SILVER LININGS 

I heaved a sigh of relief, but Mrs. Sheehan’s next 
words sent my heart down fathoms deep again. 

“There’s something I think I ought to tell you; it 
seems best that you should know. You might hear it by 
accident, and when you were not prepared.” We were 
alone together, and on those occasions Mrs. Sheehan 
invariably dropped the role of anxious aunt, and ad- 
dressed me formally as Miss Warren again. 

“Tell me,” I said, wearily, wondering what new 
trouble could possibly be threatening. 

“ It’s nothing alarming, — at least you needn’t allow 
yourself to be worried — it’s merely that there has been 
an advertisement about you in the newspapers.” 

I gave a violent start. 

“ An advertisement about me ! Who put it in? ” 

“ Your relations, I suppose, or the people who are 
trying to find you. Mr. Sheehan has seen it in three 
different papers, and I dare say it’s in plenty more as 
well.” 

“ What are you going to do about it? ” I inquired, 
faintly. I was so weak, I felt that I simply could not 
struggle against fate any longer. 

“ What are we going to do about it? Why, nothing 
at all, of course. I merely thought I had better tell 
you.” 

“ What does the advertisement say? ” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Sheehan, with some reluctance, 
“ the people who put it in are evidently very anxious to 
find you. They offer a large reward for information. 
I don’t think you are in any danger, because no one 
knows you here except Mr. Sheehan and myself.” 


A CHANGE OF AIR 22; 

“ And you won’t betray me? ” I implored, stretching 
out my hand to the kind woman, to whom I already 
owed so much. 

“ Of course not, child. That isn’t our way — not 
mine at least — and Mr. Sheehan generally allows him- 
self to be guided by me. I have promised to keep your 
secret, and I intend to do so. Still, if you could go 
away somewhere for a while, it might be just as well. 
Not that anyone would recognise you from the de- 
scription. Have you never had any photographs 
taken? ” 

“ No, not since I was a little child.” I flushed as I 
spoke, remembering my girlish obstinacy on the subject. 
I had always declared that I was not sufficiently good- 
looking to have my picture taken, and mother had given 
me my way. 

“ Then you may set your mind at rest; no one will 
recognise you here. I shall be sorry I told you about 
the advertisement if you are going to worry.” 

I promised her that I would not worry any more than 
I could help, and after a little more talk on different 
topics, she rose to go. 

“ I shall go to see Miss Adams to-morrow morning,” 
she said as she bade me good-night, and held my hot 
hand for a moment in her large, cool one. “ It isn’t 
likely I shall find her in town at this season, but I can get 
her address and write to her. She may be able to 
suggest some place for you to go.” 

I felt that I would much prefer not having Miss 
Adams troubled in the matter, but I did not like to say 
so to Mrs. Sheehan, who seemed really attached to her 


228 SILVER LININGS 

old employer, so I made no objection, and my visitor 

departed, after bidding me a kind good-night. 

I spent a miserable, sleepless night, tossing on my hot 
bed; panting with thirst, and gasping for a breath of 
fresh air, for the night was stifling. Mrs. Sheehan’s 
news troubled me a good deal. It was some time since 
I had heard of any active search being made for me, and 
I had settled down into a kind of dreary acceptance of 
things just as they were. Of course I did not believe 
that Rose and George had given me up forever, but the 
world was so big, I had a vague hope that I might never 
be discovered, and might remain in hiding for the rest 
of my days. I could not imagine why the advertise- 
ment should have appeared in the New York papers, 
unless George had in some way become aware of the 
fact that I had gone to that city. Suppose he should 
find me, and should force me to go back to the Garlands, 
or to that still worse place where Dr. Bell had intended 
taking me. The very thought sent a shiver of fear to 
my heart, and I longed to creep away somewhere, any- 
where, where neither he nor his cruel friends could ever 
find me. 

The next morning I was worse, and Mrs. Hills’ 
voice sounded more anxious than usual. She bathed 
my face and brushed my hair; then carried off my un- 
tasted breakfast, advising me to try to go to sleep ; I did 
fall asleep at last, and must have slept for some hours, 
for when I woke it was almost dinner-time. 

I tried to swallow a little of the soup Mrs. Hills 
brought me, and after that I begged to be allowed to sit 
up for a while; I was so tired of lying still. She agreed 


A CHANGE OF AIR 229 

quite willingly, remarking that I must certainly be feel- 
ing better if I began to think of sitting up. She brought 
me a loose, thin wrapper, arrayed in which I was in- 
stalled in the big rocker by the open window, with a 
pillow at my back, and the first volume of ‘ The 
Marble Faun ’ in my lap. Poor Mrs. Hills, she was 
really very kind to me, and I am afraid I gave her a 
great deal of trouble. 

I had been sitting for some time, trying to read, but 
failing to find much interest in the story, which in other 
days I should probably have considered delightful, when 
I was roused by the sound of footsteps and voices com- 
ing up the stairs. 

“ I’m sure it was very good of you to take so much 
trouble,” Mrs. Hills was saying, as the footsteps ap- 
proached the infirmary door; “Margaret will appreciate 
it greatly, I am sure. Margaret, here is Miss Adams 
come to see you. Wasn’t it good of her to come all the 
way up here in this dreadful weather? ” 

I murmured something about being very grateful, 
and the visitor shook hands with me patronisingly, and 
seemed rather displeased by my appearance. 

“ You are not looking well,” she observed, in a tone 
of evident annoyance, at the same time taking the 
seat Mrs. Hills offered her. “ I am afraid you 
have not been properly appreciating your advan- 
tages.” 

I smiled faintly, but made no other reply. 

“ Mary Sheehan has been to see me this morning,” the 
Lady Bountiful continued. “ She seems rather troubled 
about you, and says Dr. Clark insists upon change of air. 


230 SILVERLININGS 

I told her I was very sorry to hear you had been so 
foolish and discontented, for of course it can be nothing 
but useless fretting that could make a strong, healthy 
young woman like you ill.” 

“ Margaret has seemed quite happy and contented 
lately,” Mrs. Hills put in, kindly. “ Dr. Clark thinks 
it is merely the heat that has upset her.” 

“ The heat? Nonsense! A girl of her age should 
not know the difference between heat and cold. Why, 
look at me. I have come all the way down from Ver- 
mont, yesterday; have attended to no end of things to- 
day, and expect to take my mother off to the Maine coast 
the day after to-morrow. I never permit myself to be 
troubled by such trifles.” 

“ You must be very strong,” said Mrs. Hills, in a 
tone of admiration, not unmixed with awe. 

“ On the contrary, I have always been extremely 
delicate. It is only since I have ‘ come into the thought ’ 
that I have been enabled to endure all physical suffering 
without a murmur.” 

“ ‘ Come into the thought,’ ” repeated Mrs. Hills, 
vaguely. 

“ Become a believer in the true faith — in other words 
a Christian Scientist. I have only to say to myself, 

‘ there is no pain ; there is no fatigue ; all these things 
have their existence only in our imaginations.’ Oh, it 
is a beautiful thing to feel one’s self so far above all 
such trivial discomforts ! I often tell my poor mother 
that if she would only follow my example, and ‘ come 
into the thought ’ she would find the world such a 
different place. Her constant complaints of bodily ail- 


ACHANGEOFAIR 231 

merits are a great trial to me, especially knowing as I 
do that such things have no real existence.” 

” It must be hard for you,” said Mrs. Hills, sym- 
pathetically. 

“ Very hard, but we will not talk about that now. I 
have only a few moments to spare, and there are several 
matters that I should like to discuss with you. I in- 
tended calling here this afternoon, even before Mary 
Sheehan came, as I wanted to hear how things were 
getting on, and knew that all the other managers were 
away. But in the first place, I want to tell you that I 
have made arrangements for having Margaret sent out 
of town as soon as you can get her ready to start.” 

Mrs. Hills uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise. 
I scarcely knew whether I was glad or sorry. The 
desire to get away was very strong, and yet the thought 
of moving was painful in the extreme. 

” She is to be sent to Peak’s Point on the Hudson,” 
Miss Adams went on, speaking in the tone of a person 
whose mind is thoroughly made up, and who is moreover 
very well satisfied with the result, “ to some very kind 
old people, for whom my mother and I have done a 
great deal in past years; and who are in consequence 
only too happy to do anything in their power for us in 
return. They are thoroughly respectable, and I con- 
sider the place in every way most suitable for Margaret. 
William Henderson was my father’s coachman for a 
number of years, and he is a most excellent man in every 
respect. A few years ago he decided to move into the 
country, and he and his wife bought a small farm at 
Peak’s Point. My mother was extremely kind to them 


232 SILVER LININGS 

at that time, and their gratitude has been most touching 
ever since. Mrs. Henderson is a very good woman, 
and they are both good Christians. Their children are 
all married, and they are living quite alone. There is 
nothing in the w’orld to prevent them from giving 
Margaret the very best of care. I have made all the 
arrangements with Mary Sheehan, and written Mrs. 
Henderson to expect the girl on Monday.” 

“ Monday,” repeated Mrs. Hills, somewhat doubt- 
fully. ” Do you think Margaret will be strong enough 
for the journey quite so soon? She is very weak yet.” 

“ The journey to Peak’s Point is nothing,” said Miss 
Adams, rising as she spoke. “ It is only a little over an 
hour in the train, and Mary will take her, of course. I 
have arranged everything most satisfactorily. They 
will go by one of the afternoon trains, and Mary will 
return the same evening; she objects to being away from 
her husband over night. Now let me go downstairs, 
Mrs. Hills. I want to say a few words to the other 
women before I leave. Good-bye, Margaret; I hope 
you will enjoy your outing. I have written Mrs. Hen- 
derson to keep you at least two weeks. If you do not 
feel equal to the journey on Monday, merely say to 
yourself, ‘ There is no pain, there is no weakness; illness 
has no real existence ’ ; and you will see that your 
physical discomforts will pass away like magic.” 

“ You are very kind,” I said, feeling that I must say 
something. “I am sorry to be so much trouble to 
everyone.” 

“ I never mind trouble,” said Miss Adams, kindly. 
“ I am glad, however, to see that you show so much 


ACHANGEOFAIR 233 

appreciation of what is being done for you. Always 
remember to be grateful for all your benefits, and re- 
member too, how very fortunate you are to have found 
shelter in such a beautiful refuge. There are times 
when I could almost wish myself an inmate of such a 
Home as this. One can be so thoroughly at peace; so 
free from care.” 

Having delivered which moral sentiments. Miss 
Adams bustled away, accompanied by Mrs. Hills, and 
I sank back in my chair, feeling very much as though the 
solid earth had been suddenly cut away from beneath 
my feet. 


XIX 

MRS. Lester's friend 

I T was Monday afternoon and I had come down to 
the general sitting-room for the first time in two 
weeks. I was dressed for my journey, and was 
only awaiting the arrival of Mrs. Sheehan, who was to 
accompany me to Peak’s Point. I had recovered very 
rapidly the three days since Miss Adams’ visit. There 
had been a severe thunder-storm on the Friday night, 
which had been followed by a decided change in 
temperature, and with the return of cooler breezes my 
strength had returned to me with almost marvellous 
swiftness. 

I had never realised until I came downstairs that 
afternoon how much the women had grown to like me. 
During my illness I had seen no one except Mary Green, 
and I had been inclined to think some of her reports 
exaggerated, but now as the girls gathered round me, all 
talking at once in their eagerness to express their pleasure 
at having me downstairs again, and their regret that I 
was going away, I felt all at once that my time at the 
Home could not have been quite wasted, after all, since 
I had made such really warm friends. 

“ You can’t think how we’ve missed you,” exclaimed 
half a dozen voices at once. ‘‘ And you’re going off 
again just as you’re getting well; it’s a real shame.” 

‘‘ 1 wish I could go, too,” remarked Nellie Boyd, a 

234 


MRS. Lester's friend 235 
delicate girl, with a consumptive cough, rather wistfully. 
“ You’ll get lots of fresh eggs and nice milk in the 
country; it ’ll do you lots of good.” 

“ I wish you could go in my place,” I said; “ I would 
much rather stay where I am.” 

“Do you suppose you’ll go carriage-riding? ” Maggie 
Sullivan inquired. “ Most farmers have horses.” 

“ I was on a farm once, and I hated it,” remarked 
Lizzie Maxwell, scornfully. “ They never had any- 
thing to eat but pork and apple pie, and we had to go to 
church three times on Sunday.” 

“ Say ! when you come back you’ll tell us the rest of 
that lovely story you was telling us when you got sick, 
won’t you, dear? ” said Jennie Plum, a somewhat feeble- 
minded woman of fifty, laying her wrinkled hand coax- 
ingly on my arm as she spoke. “You do tell beauti- 
ful stories, don’t she, girls? ” 

“ Yes, indeed,” responded an eager chorus. “ And 
you won’t stay away long, will you?” two or three 
voices added. 

I was still weak, and I felt the tears start to my eyes. 
It was very sweet to know that I should be missed even 
by these poor women; but before I could say much in 
reply the servant appeared at the door to say that Mrs. 
Sheehan was waiting for me in the reception-room, and 
I hastened to say good-bye to old Catherine, who sat as 
usual knitting in her corner, and took no share in the 
conversation of the others. Catherine’s manner was 
scarcely what would be termed cordial. 

“Going away, are you?” she muttered, rather crossly, 
as I took her hand. “ Well, I suppose you think you 


236 SILVER LININGS 

are going to find a better place than this, but you won’t. 
I’ve been here for more than thirty years, and I can tell 
you there aint no better place in this world, not for poor 
folks, anyway.” 

“ I dare say you are right,” I said, smiling, “ but you 
see, the doctor wants me to have a change of air, and 
I am only going away for a little while.” 

“ Change of air,” sniffed the old woman, “ change of 
fiddle-sticks! As if the air were better anywhere than 
it is here. I’d like to see anyone try to drag me away for 
change of air. But I suppose young folks will have 
their notions, so run away, child, they’re waiting for 
you, and come back as soon as you can to give us some 
more pretty music.” 

The latter part of the sentence was uttered in a much 
more friendly tone, and I took courage to give the 
wrinkled old hand a hearty squeeze before I hurried 
away. 

Mary Green went with me to the reception-room, 
where we found Mrs. Hills and Mrs. Sheehan in earnest 
conversation. I detected at once, from the latter’s man- 
ner as she greeted me, that something had put her out. 

“ The most unfortunate thing has happened, Mar- 
garet,” she began, speaking a trifle less calmly than 
usual. ‘‘ Mr. Sheehan was taken quite sick last night, 
and he is feeling so poorly to-day that I am almost 
afraid to leave him.” 

“ Indeed, you mustn’t think of leaving him on my 
account,” I excaimed eagerly. I can go just as well 
to-morrow or the day after.” 

“ Yes, that would do very well, if we were only sure 


MRS. LESTER'S FRIEND 237 

that Mr. Sheehan would be about by to-morrow or the 
day after, but he has had these attacks before — malarial 
fever, the doctor calls them — and I have known him to 
be laid up for two or three weeks at a time. So the 
question is, how we are to get you to Peak’s Point.” 

My heart sank. Still I made an effort to speak cheer- 
fully. 

“ It really doesn’t matter,” I protested. “ I don’t 
mind staying here. They have all been so kind, I hate 
to leave them.” 

“ Oh, that would never do in the world I ” returned 
Mrs. Sheehan, decidedly. “ Miss Adams would be very 
angry, after making all the arrangements, and besides 
you must have the change of air. I have a plan, but I 
don’t know whether you will agree to it or not. Mr. 
Sheehan suggested it, and Mrs. Hills doesn’t see any 
objection. Would you mind going to Peak’s Point 
alone this afternoon? The journey isn’t long, and you 
would be perfectly safe. I would put you on the train, 
and tell the conductor to have an eye on you, and put 
you off at the right place. William Henderson is to 
meet us at the station, anyway, and I would send him a 
telegram to make sure of his being there on time. 
Would you be afraid? ” 

“Not in the least,” I replied, readily; “I think I 
should rather enjoy the experience.” 

“ It’s really quite safe,” Mrs. Hills put in cheerfully. 
“ Many of our women are accustomed to travelling 
alone. Maggie Sullivan came all the way from Iowa 
by herself three years ago.” 

So the matter was settled, and ten minutes later Mrs. 


/ 


238 SILVER LININGS 

Sheehan and I were on our way to the Grand Central 
Depot. Mrs. Hills kissed me very kindly when she 
bade me good-bye, and Mary clung to me in a lingering 
embrace, declaring that she should miss me more than 
she could express, and that I must hurry and get well, 
and come back as soon as I could. After all, it was not 
without a feeling of something like regret that I turned 
my back on The Home for Destitute Blind. 

The big station when we reached it seemed very noisy 
and confusing, and I clutched my bag tight (I had not 
been indulged with the luxury of a trunk) and clung 
tightly to Mrs. Sheehan’s arm, as she made her way 
through the crowd. She had stopped to send her 
telegram by the way. 

“ I am sure you will be all right,” she said, reassur- 
ingly, as we hurried along to the waiting train. “ I re- 
member William Henderson very well, though he left 
the Adams’ soon after I came. He is a very respectable 
old man, and I have heard that his wife is a good 
woman. They may not be such people as you have been 
accustomed to. Miss Warren, but they are kind and well- 
meaning, and will do their best to make you comfort- 
able, I’m sure.” 

There was one question I wanted to ask, and I took 
this opportunity to do so. 

” Did Miss Adams give you the money for my 
journey? ” 

Mrs. Sheehan hesitated slightly. 

“Well, no, she didn’t,” she admitted, with evident 
reluctance. “ I have no doubt she would have done so 
if she had thought of it, or if I had asked her, but I felt 


MRS. Lester's friend 239 

that she had done a good deal in finding the place for 
you, and making all the arrangements with the Hender- 
sons. The fare to Peak’s Point and back really isn’t 
worth mentioning,” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Sheehan, you are a good woman ! ” I 
exclaimed from the very bottom of my full heart. 
“ How can I ever thank you for all that you and yours 
have done for me? ” 

“ Nonsense,” returned Mrs. Sheehan, not without 
some embarrassment. ‘‘ Does this car go to Peak’s 
Point, sir? That’s right; this way, my dear.” 

Our stopping to send the telegram to the Hendersons 
had caused some delay, and by the time we entered the 
train most of the seats were already occupied. Mrs. 
Sheehan hurried me through two cars ; at the door of the 
third she paused in some perturbation. 

“ I declare, I don’t know what to do,” she exclaimed, 
in a tone of real distress. “ There isn’t a single empty 
seat in this car, either. I can’t leave you standing.” 

“ There is plenty of room in this seat; I can take my 
little girl on my lap.” 

Where had I heard that sweet, pleasant voice before ? 
For the moment I could not remember. Mrs. Sheehan 
appeared much relieved. 

“ You’re very kind, ma’am; I very much obliged to 
you. Pm sure. Here’s a seat for you, Margaret. 
Now I must be hurrying, for the train ’ll be starting in a 
few moments, and I want to say a word to the conductor 
about putting you off at the right place. You’ve got 
your ticket safe, haven’t you? That’s right, keep it in 
your hand. Be sure you pay attention to the names of 


240 SILVERLININGS 

the stations when they call them out, and don’t on any 
account get carried on beyond Peak’s Point. Ask Mrs. 
Henderson to send me a line to let me know how you 
get on. Good-bye, good-bye.” And with a warm hand- 
shake, and a final injunction to be sure and not lose my 
ticket, Mrs. Sheehan hurried away. 

It was the first time in my life that I had ever travelled 
alone, and I must confess that my sensations for the first 
few moments after Mrs. Sheehan had left me were any- 
thing but pleasant. I clutched my bag tight, leaned 
back in my corner, and in order to calm my nerves, and 
quiet my foolishly beating heart, listened to the con- 
versation of the two other occupants of the seat. 

“Is papa coming soon?” inquired the sweetest of 
baby voices. “ Why doesn’t papa come in the choo- 
choo cars, too ? ” 

“ Papa is very busy, darling. I’m afraid he has 
missed the train.” 

At that moment the train began to move. 

“ Oh, mamma, the choo-choo car’s going, and papa 
hasn’t come.” The little voice began to quiver. 

“Never mind, my pet, we mustn’t fret about it. Papa 
will come on the next train.” The words were cheer- 
ful, but there was a note of anxiety in the pleasant voice, 
which still stuck me as oddly familiar. The next 
moment the lady had turned to me, and was saying, 
kindly : 

“ Won’t you let me put your bag down for you? It 
is too heavy for you to hold, and there is plenty of room 
here on the floor.” 

“ Thank you,” I said, and then I added, with sudden 


MRS. LRSTER^S friend ^1 

eagerness, as she took the bag from my hands, “ Ex- 
cuse me, but aren’t you Mrs. Lester’s friend? ” 

“Mrs. Lester’s friend,” repeated the lady; “I 

know a Mrs. Lester, but ” 

“ Oh, you don’t remember me I ” I interposed, “ but 
you came with Mrs. Lester one day last winter to the 
Home for the Blind. You came to sing to the women, 
and you were very kind to me.” 

The lady’s manner instantly changed. 

“ Oh, to be sure ! ” she said, warmly. “ I remember 
you quite well, now. You are the girl who bumped 
your head, and cried because you were homesick; Mar- 
garet, Margaret ” 

“ Sheehan,” I finished, noticing that she hesitated. 

“ Yes, Margaret Sheehan. How stupid in me not 
to recognise you at first, but you look different, some- 
how. Have you been ill? ” 

I explained the state of affairs, and she seemed really 
interested, and asked me several questions, ending with, 
“ And didn’t I hear your friend say something about 
Peak’s Point before she left you ? ” 

I replied that Peak’s Point was the place to which I 
was being sent. 

“ That is odd,” she said, “ for Peak’s Point is our 
home, too — or at least our home for the present; we 
have taken a place here for the summer. With whom 
are you going to stay? ” 

“Their name is Henderson; I believe they are 
farmers.” I tried to speak indifferently, but I felt my 
cheeks tingle, nevertheless. It was very silly, of course, 
but I hated to have to confess how very humble my ex- 


SILVER LININGS 


242 

pectations were. A girl who had been an inmate of 
The Home for Destitute Blind for six months ought 
certainly to have gotten bravely over all such scruples. 
I thought my companion seemed a little surprised. 

“ William Henderson, I suppose you mean. His 
farm is quite near our place, and we sometimes get eggs 
from there. I didn’t know that he and his wife ever 
took boarders.” 

I explained that the Hendersons were proteges of the 
lady who had so kindly planned this change for me, and 
that they had in consequence consented to take me in for 
a while. I think she saw the subject was a rather em- 
barrassing one to me, for she hastened to change it, and 
was soon chatting away to me on different topics, in her 
kind and yet tactful compassion, unconsciously treating 
me more like an equal than anyone of my own class had 
done in months. 

Little Lulu too seemed quite ready to make friends, 
and soon broke in upon some remark of her mother’s by 
demanding in a perfectly audible whisper : 

“ May I give the poor lady some of my candy, 
mamma? ’Cause, you know, you said she couldn’t 
see? ” 

I did not care very much for the candy, but I did care 
for the timely thought, and my heart went out to the 
little child almost as it had done to her mother on that 
day when she had brought the first ray of hope and 
comfort into my lonely, desolate life. 

Lulu proved a most interesting topic to both Lulu’s 
mamma and myself. She was four and a half, she told 
me, and ” she had no brothers and sisters, only just 


MRS. Lester's friend 243 

me.” It was easy to see that she was her mother's idol, 
and yet, oddly enough, she was not spoiled, but was in 
fact one of the sweetest, most winning little children 
it has ever been my lot to meet. Lulu had gone to New 
York with her mamma that day on purpose to buy a 
birthday present for her papa, and nothing would satisfy 
the little maid until the parcel she was carrying with the 
greatest care, “ all by her own self,” had been opened 
and I had been allowed to examine the silver inkstand, 
which was to be filled with ink, and placed on papa's 
desk to-morrow morning, “ for him to see when he first 
came downstairs, and be a most tremendous ‘ sprise.' ” 

“ It's for him to write his letters in, you know,” she 
exclaimed. ‘ Papa does write such lots of letters, all 
about business. I don't know what business is, but 
papa has a great deal of it.” At which precocious 
observation Lulu's mamma and I both laughed heartily. 

Altogether, the journey was a far pleasanter one than 
I had dared to hope for, and the hour in the train 
slipped away very fast indeed. It was not until my 
companion told me that the next station would be Peak's 
Point that I had at last found courage to say something 
of my own feelings. 

“ I'm so glad I met you again,” I said, leaning for- 
ward, and speaking low and eagerly. “ I have been 
hoping for a long time that I should meet you again. I 
have wanted so much to tell you what you did for me 
that day.” 

“What I did for you? Why, my dear child, I 
didn't do anything for you, unless you meant put Pond's 
Extract on your forehead.” 


244 SILVER LININGS 

“ You gave me new hope — new life,” I said, 
earnestly. “ Before you came I didn’t care what be- 
came of me. I never realised how selfish I was, or that 
I wasn’t the only unhappy person In the world. I’ve 
been miserable and lonely enough since. Heaven knows, 
but I don’t think the world has ever seemed quite so 
dark, and desolate as It did that day. I wish I knew 
how to thank you.” 

“ Peak’s Point, Peak’s Point ! ” shouted the brake- 
man at that moment, bringing my confidences to an 
abrupt close. At the same time a rough hand touched 
my shoulder. 

“ You’re to be put off here, aint you? Step this way, 
please.” 

Three minutes later, Mrs. Lester’s friend, her little 
daughter, and myself were all standing together on the 
Peak’s Point platform, and the train was already puffing 
away. 

“ Now let me see ; you said the Hendersons were to be 
here to meet you, did you not? ” said my acquaintance, 
who, somewhat contrary to my expectations still lin- 
gered by my side. “ Will they know you ? ” 

I replied that they had never seen me before, but 
that they would probably be on the lookout for a blind 
girl. 

“ We’ll walk down to the other end of the platform, 
and see if we can find him; there are a good many 
people here to meet the train. Come, Lulu, darling.” 
And the stranger drew my arm kindly within her 
own. 

We did walk down to the other end of the platform, 


MRS. Lester's friend 245 
and then we walked back again, but still no one spoke 
to me — no one appeared to notice me. 

“ I am afraid there has been some mistake,” the lady- 
said, thoughtfully; “they may not have understood 
about the hour, but, my dear, don’t look so distressed, it 
will be all right. Our carriage is here, and I will leave 
you at the Hendersons’ on my way home.” 

I protested that I could not think of giving her so 
much trouble, but I was trembling from head to foot, 
from weakness and distress, and I think she saw I was 
in no condition to be left alone. 

“Nonsense!” she said, lightly, “it isn’t the least 
trouble. We pass the Hendersons’ gate, and I shall 
be glad to see you safely in their care. Besides I want 
to see Mrs. Henderson about sending us some fresh 
eggs.” 

I made no further resistance, and almost before I had 
realised the fact I was leaning back in a comfortable 
victoria, and being driven rapidly away from the station 
in company with my new friends. It was a very short 
drive, and just as I was recovering sufficiently from my 
nervous terror to enjoy something of the fresh country 
air and sweet country smells, the carriage had stopped 
again, and Mrs. Lester’s friend was helping me out. 

We walked up a short flagged path, and entered a low 
wooden porch. There was no bell, but my new friend 
knocked at the door, and, after waiting for several 
moments, we heard a slow, shuffling footstep approach- 
ing, and the handle was turned as though by rather 
clumsy fingers. 

“ Why, Mrs. Bell,” exclaimed a somewhat quavering 


246 SILVER LININGS 

feminine voice, “ I’m right glad to see you; won’t you 

walk in? ” 

At the words “ Mrs. Bell ” I had given a violent 
start, but I recovered myself almost instantly. Bell 
was a very common name, I reflected; it was not possible 
that this sweet, kind little woman could have the re- 
motest connection with the Garlands’ objectionable 
boarder. 

“ No, I can’t come in this afternoon, Mrs. Hender- 
son,” the lady explained. “ I have been in town all 
day, and am just on my way home from the station ; but 
I have brought this young girl, Margaret Sheehan. 
You are expecting her, are you not? ” 

Mrs. Henderson appeared to collect her scattered 
wits with an effort. 

“My land!” she exclaimed, in evident dismay. 
“ You don’t mean it’s the little blind girl Miss Adams 
wrote about. I didn’t think it was near time for her 
yet.” 

“ She arrived on the five-twenty train,” said Mrs. 
Bell; “she expected someone to meet her at the sta- 
tion.” 

“ Well, now I did say something to pa about it, but 
he said he had to get a load of hay in this afternoon, and 
that there wasn’t any need, for Mrs. Sheehan was com- 
ing with her, and they could ask the way. I’m too 
crippled with rheumatism to walk a step more’n I can 
help, but I was sitting in my chair expecting ’em, and I 
guess I must have just lost myself, for I hadn’t an idea 
of the time.” 

“ But didn’t you get Mrs. Sheehan’s telegram, saying 


MRS. Lester's friend 247 

she was unable to come with her niece, and that the poor 
child was travelling alone?” 

“ Telegram,” repeated Mrs. Henderson, stupidly, 
“ no, there aint no telegram come here. IVe been in all 
the afternoon, and all day too, for that matter, and 
you’re the first folks that’s come near the place. I don’t 
go out no more’n I can help, I can tell you; it’s hard 
enough work for me to get round indoors.” 

“ There is a paper under the door; possibly that may 
be the telegram.” And Mrs. Bell stooped to pick up 
something that lay at her feet. 

Sure enough, it was Mrs. Sheehan’s telegram, still 
unopened. 

“Well, I declare to goodness!” ejaculated Mrs. Hen- 
derson, fairly awake at last; “ I suppose that boy just 
stuck the thing there and ran away, without waiting for 
his pay. Like as not he knocked, too, but I’m rather 
hard of hearing when I drop off like that in my chair 
of an afternoon, and I suppose he thought there was 
nobody at home. Well, it was lucky that no worse 
come of it. It was mighty kind of you to bring the girl 
up. I’m sure, Mrs. Bell.” 

“ I am very glad that I happened to be on the train,” 
said Mrs. Bell. “ You must take good care of Mar- 
garet, Mrs. Henderson; she has been ill, and is still far 
from strong. Now I must be going, for I have left my 
little girl in the carriage. Oh, by the way, will you ask 
Mr. Henderson to bring up some fresh eggs, if he can? 
Good-bye, Margaret; you must get Mr. Henderson to 
bring you to see Lulu and me some time while you are 
here.” 


248 SILVER LININGS 

She shook hands with me very kindly, and with a 
parting admonition to Mrs. Henderson not to forget 
the eggs, she hurried away, leaving me to make 
acquaintance with my new surroundings. 

Mrs. Henderson did not seem at all unkind, but she 
was evidently much embarrassed, and uncertain what to 
do with me. She led me into the farm-house kitchen — 
which I afterwards found did duty as general sitting- 
room as well — and installed me in a big wooden rocker, 
remarking as she did so, that “ she wasn’t used to blind 
folks, but she supposed I’d get to find my way about 
after a bit.” I hastened to assure her that I always 
went about the house by myself, and I added, with a 
heightened colour, that I would try to give her as little 
trouble as possible. I thought this information relieved 
her somewhat, for her manner became more gracious, 
and she even proposed to make a cup of tea. 

“ You do look just about ready to drop,” she re- 
marked, not unkindly. “ Going in them jiggley cars is 
enough to knock most anyone to pieces, and you’ve 
been sick, too. Miss Fannie said.” 

“Oh, but I’m ever so much better now! ” I said, 
hastily; “I shall be quite well soon; this beautiful 
country air will do me all the good in the world. But 
don’t bother about the tea, please. I am not at all 
hungry, and can easily wait till your supper time.” 

“ Well, it ’ll be time to get supper in half an hour,” 
said Mrs. Henderson, apparently well satisfied with my 
decision. “ Pa will never have his supper before a 
quarter-past six in summer. He likes to stay outdoors 
till six, and then he always will clean himself up before 


MRS. Lester's friend 249 

he sits down to table. He is a clean man, my husband 
is, Miss Sheehan. You’d never get a smell of the stable 
about him, for all he was a coachman for so many years. 
I aint so spry as I was, or I’d insist on getting you some- 
thing this very minute, but since you say you aint hungry, 
may be you’d like to come up to your room.” 

I was very glad of this suggestion, and Mrs. Hender- 
son took my arm again, and proceeded to crawl slowly 
up the stairs to a small, plainly furnished room on the 
second floor, which she said had been prepared for my 
use. The room seemed neat and comfortable, and I 
inwardly compared it very favourably with the apart- 
ment I had occupied at the Garlands’. Mrs. Henderson 
sat down, and watched me with evident interest while I 
removed the articles from my bag, washed my face and 
hands, and made myself as tidy and comfortable as 
circumstances would admit. She did not offer to help 
me, but remarked with satisfaction that I was “ a handy 
girl,” and that it was a good thing I knew how to wait 
on myself. 

“ For with my poor crippled fingers it’s not much I 
should be able to do for you,” she added, mourn- 
fully. 

I expressed my sympathy for her trouble, and then 
ventured to inquire if she often took summer boarders. 
I thought she seemed somewhat surprised at the 
question. 

“ Never,” she said, with decision. “ I can’t stand 
a lot of folks round, and pa says I’m old enough to have 
my own way. That’s just one of his little jokes, for he 
hates it as much as I do.” 


250 SILVER LININGS 

“ Then I think it was extremely kind of you to take 
me,” I said, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable. 

Before Mrs. Henderson could reply there was the 
sound of a heavy footstep in the hall below, and a man’s 
loud, cheery voice called from the foot of the stairs : 

“ Mother, I say, mother! are you up there? And 
have Mary Sheehan and the little girl come? ” 

Mrs. Henderson hobbled away, and I heard her re- 
lating the history of my arrival to her better half over 
the banisters. 

As soon as my simple toilet was completed, Mrs. 
Henderson once more conducted me down to the kitchen, 
where I was presented to the master of the house, who 
shook my hand heartily, and remarked that he was de- 
lighted to make my acquaintance. 

“ I’m right sorry about that telegraph business,” he 
observed, pushing me gently into the big rocker as he 
spoke. “ I’d been at the station, and no mistake, 
if I’d known; but it’s my belief that when my wife goes 
off into one of them afternoon dozes of hers, you 
might batter the house down without waking her. It 
was a lucky thing that you happened to meet Mrs. Bell. 
She’s a friend in need, that’s what she is.” 

“ Do you know her well?” I inquired, eagerly. I 
felt a strong desire to learn all that I could about Mrs. 
Bell. 

“ Well, this is their second or third summer here, and 
I can’t say as I’ve ever had very much acquaintance with 
them; but there are some folks in this world you only 
have to look at to know they’re good, and she’s one of 
’em. There aint a prettier little woman this side of 


MRS. Lester's friend 251 

Jericho, nor a more perfect lady neither, and what’s 
more, there aint a poor family in this town but what 
have got a good word to say for her — and for him, too, 
for that matter.” 

At that moment the old Dutch clock struck six solemn 
strokes, and Mr. Henderson, being a man of habit, 
promptly took himself away, remarking that “ it was 
time to clean up for supper,” so I heard nothing more 
about Mrs. Bell and her family on that occasion. 

The supper was good, but I was almost too tired to 
eat, although the Hendersons hospitably piled my plate 
with all that the table held. Mrs. Henderson had been 
a cook in her youth, and she had not forgotten her culi- 
nary powers, although, as she remarked, “ It was mighty 
hard work to keep house when your fingers was so stiff 
it was as much as your life was worth to hold a needle.” 

“ It’s all her own fault that she don’t have a girl, 
though, and she knows it,” put in Mr. Henderson, dep- 
recatingly, as he sipped his tea. “ She could have a 
girl to-morrow if she’d only say the word.” 

Mrs. Henderson sniffed, and observed that “ girls 
weren’t her sort,” and that “ She’d a deal rather work 
till she dropped than have one always hanging round.” 
She added for my benefit that one of her married daugh- 
ters always came up from the city once a month, and 
did the house-cleaning, and Miss Delaney, the village 
dressmaker, was always ready to give her a day’s sewing 
and mending, for the asking. 

Thinking the subject might prove an interesting one 
to my companions, I mentioned that I had recently seen 
Miss Adams, but for some reason neither of the old 


252 SILVER LININGS 

people appeared inclined to continue the conversation. 
Mr. Henderson remarked rather stiffly, that he hoped 
the old lady was well, and his wife immediately changed 
the subject by begging me to try a little cold ham. I 
was puzzled, remembering Miss Adams’ assurances of 
the devotion of these people, but by that time I was 
physically almost too exhausted to think, and I soon dis- 
missed the matter from my mind. 

It was not a luxurious abode, certainly, nor were the 
Hendersons particularly interesting, but they were kind, 
and that means a great deal when one’s heart is as sad 
and lonely as mine was then. I went upstairs to my 
room immediately after supper, and as I lay in the soft 
feather-bed, listening to the chirping of the robins in the 
cherry-tree just outside the window — for it was not yet 
eight o’clock, and even the birds had not gone to bed — 
there was a feeling of rest and security such as I had not 
known in many a day, and when I fell asleep at last, it 
was a pleasant, tranquil sleep, untroubled by feverish 
dreams, or sudden wakings in the dead of night to cry 
for hours in the darkness over my loneliness and help- 
lessness. 


XX 

I MAKE A MORNING CALL 

I T was Saturday morning, and I had been at the 
Hendersons’ for nearly a week. I was sitting on 
the steps of the porch, busily shelling peas. Mrs. 
Henderson would have preferred to have me sit all day 
in the big rocker and do nothing, but after some little 
difficulty I had succeeded in convincing her that I should 
be much happier with something to do, and I was fast 
becoming quite proficient In the arts of dIsh-washIng, 
bed-making, and other household tasks. The Hender- 
sons were very kind, and I already felt much better for 
the change from the heat and noise of the city. My 
mind was busy with many thoughts, as the peas dropped 
Into the china bowl on my lap, and I gave a little start 
at the sound of Mr. Henderson’s gruff, kindly voice 
close behind me. 

“ How would you like to come for a walk this morn- 
ing? It’s fine and cool.” 

“ I should like It very much,” I said, frankly; “ but 
are you sure It won’t be a trouble to you to take me? ” 

“ Not a bit of it; shouldn’t ask you If I didn’t want 
you. I’ve got to go over to Bells’ with some fresh eggs, 
and I thought, as like as not, you’d enjoy going along.” 

“ I will get ready at once,” I said, beginning to gather 
up my pods. “ I think I have shelled enough peas for 
dinner.” 


253 


254 SILVER LININGS 

“ Yes, and more than enough,” said the farmer, good- 
naturedly, and he carried off the pan while I ran up- 
stairs for my hat. 

I had heard nothing more from Mrs. Bell since the 
night of my arrival, but my interest in her had not by 
any means decreased, and I could not repress a regretful 
sigh at the thought that my plain calico dress and straw 
hat were the best garments I possessed. To be sure, as I 
told myself, Mr. Henderson’s errand was to the kitchen 
of the Bell establishment, and it was very doubtful if I 
should meet the mistress of the house at all. But then 
there was the chance that I might meet her. I wondered 
what Mrs. Bell would have thought of me if she had 
happened to meet me two years ago. People had always 
said mother dressed me in such good taste, but such 
speculations were an idle waste of time, and I tried to 
banish them from my thoughts as I walked along the 
shady lane by Mr. Henderson’s side. The air was 
fresh and cool, and I really enjoyed the walk, though 
my companion was rather silent. Mr. Henderson was 
fond of remarking that he never talked unless he had 
something particular to say. We had walked some dis- 
tance, and my thoughts had wandered away to other 
summers, and other walks in happier days, when I was 
suddenly and effectually brought back to the present by 
this abrupt question : 

“ Was your father a brother of Tom Sheehan’s? ” 

“ Yes,” I said, shortly. 

“ I didn’t know he ever had a brother. That’s not 
surprising, though, as I’m not much of a one for gossip. 
Has your father been dead long? ” 


255 


A MORNING CALL 

“ Only a little over a year.” 

“ And your mother? ” 

“ She died at the same time; it was very terrible. 
They were both killed in a railway accident.” My 
voice broke, and I had hard work to restrain the tears. 

Mr. Henderson laid his rough hand kindly on my 
shoulder. 

“ There, there, never mind; I didn’t want to hurt you, 
only it seemed queer I should never have heard of Tom 
Sheehan’s having a brother.” 

There was another silence, and, then, merely for the 
sake of saying something, I inquired rather timidly if 
we had much further to go. 

“ Not much,” Mr. Henderson said, “ it’s only about 
half a mile from my house to the Bells’ place. It’s one 
of the prettiest places around here, by the way. We’re 
most at the gate now; you’ll begin to smell the flowers 
in a minute.” 

It was true; in a few moments more we were walking 
up a broad carriage drive, bordered on either side by 
great trees, and the air was fragrant with the perfume of 
verbena and heliotrope. 

“ How beautiful ! ” I said, pausing to drink in a long, 
delicious breath; “ do the Bells live here all the year 
round? ” 

“ No, only in summer; they’ve got a house in New 
York, where they live in winter. Folks say he’s very 
rich. I don’t know how true that is. Anyhow, he aint 
stingy with his money, and that’s the best thing that can 
be said in any man’s favour. Halloa ! here comes the lit- 
tle girl now; looks as if she knew you.” 


256 SILVER LININGS 

Next moment two small hands had seized me from 
behind, and an eager little voice was shouting de- 
lightedly : 

“ I saw you coming, and I runned away from Katy. 
Did you come to see my rabbits ? ” 

“ I came to see you,” I said, laughing, and then, for- 
getful for the moment of everything else, I stooped and 
would have kissed the little upturned face, but a sharp, 
feminine voice interposed : 

“ Don’t kiss the child; Mrs. Bell never allows it. 
Lulu, you naughty girl, what made you run away? ” 

I drew back quickly, my cheeks crimsoning ; even the 
child seemed crestfallen. 

“ It’s the poor lady what can’t see, Katy,” she ex- 
plained. “ She came in the choo-choo cars with us, and 
I gave her some of my candy. I’m going to take her 
upstairs to see mamma. I’m going to take her all by 
my own self.” And she grasped my hand and held it 
tight. 

“ You’ll let her fall and hurt herself,” said the nurse, 
in a dissatisfied tone. “ Besides, I don’t believe your 
mamma wants to be bothered.” 

“ Yes, she does. She likes the poor lady what can’t 
see, she truly does, Katy. She said she was very sorry 
for her.” 

“ Very well,” said the nurse, crossly. “ Do as you 
please, only, if Mrs. Bell is provoked about it, she 
needn’t blame me.” 

I hesitated, uncertain what to do, and feeling de- 
cidedly uncomfortable; but Mr. Henderson settled the 
question. 


A MORNING CALL 257 

“ Go along with the little girl,” he said, reassuringly. 
“ I’ll take these eggs to the kitchen, and wait there for 
you till you come down. Mrs. Bell is a nice lady; I 
guess she’ll be pleased to see you.” 

In another moment I was being led slowly and care- 
fully along the path by the delighted Lulu, while Katy, 
silent and disapproving, followed close behind. 

“ I know just how it feels when you can’t see,” Lulu 
observed, as we reached the piazza steps, “ ’cause the 
other day I tied a handkerchief over my eyes, and shut 
them up very tight. It was quite dark, and it felt so 
funny. I couldn’t see where I was going, and I ’most 
fell downstairs, and then Katy scolded, and made me 
take the handkerchief off. It was so nice when it got 
light again. Do you have to stay in the dark all the 
time? ” 

“ Yes, Lulu, all the time.” 

“ I suppose you get used to it after a while. Katy 
says people do. I asked papa, but he wouldn’t tell me. 
We can’t talk to papa about people what can’t see.” 

“ Why not? ” I inquired, with natural curiosity. 

“ I don’t know, but mamma says we mustn’t. He 
jumped up so quick when I asked him, and commenced 
walking up and down the piazza, and mamma told me 
to go up to the nursery. I thought he was cross, but 
mamma said he was only unhappy, and we mustn’t talk 
about it. Here is the front door; don’t you think I 
take you nicely ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, you do,” I said heartily. “ You are a 
splendid little guide.” 

We entered what seemed to be a wide hall, and began 


258 SILVER LININGS 

ascending a broad, shallow flight of stairs. So we 
neared the top of the stairs, my little companion calling 
excitedly : 

“ Mamma, mamma I here’s the poor lady what can’t 
see. I bringed her all the way up from the gate by my 
own self.” 

Mrs. Bell received me very kindly, told me I was 
looking much better, and made me sit down in her cool, 
pleasant room, while Lulu trotted off to the nursery, 
returning almost immediately with an armful of treas- 
ures, which she deposited in my lap. 

“ You may choose what you’d like to take home,” she 
explained. “ When I go to see Miss Gray she always 
lets me choose something to take home.” 

“ Miss Gray is an invalid lady, and one of our neigh- 
bours,” Mrs. Bell added. “ She is very fond of chil- 
dren, and I am afraid she spoils Lulu sadly.” 

“ Miss Gray can’t walk,” said Lulu, solemnly. “ I 
asked her if she would rather not walk than not see, and 
she said yes, ’cause she could look out of her window 
and see all the pretty things.” 

“ Suppose, Lulu, that you run downstairs, and ask 
Ellen to make us some nice cold lemonade,” Mrs. Bell 
interrupted, rather hurriedly. “ I am sure Margaret 
would like a glass after her hot walk. You mustn’t 
mind this child’s chatter,” she added, kindly, as Lulu 
left the room. “You know how children will harp 
on one subject. Lulu is a dear, sympathetic little soul, 
and she is very much interested in you. She was asking 
me only this morning if I would not take her to see 
you.” 


A MORNING CALL 259 

“ She is the sweetest little darling in the world/’ I 
said, enthusiastically. “ I am not at all sensitive about 
my blindness; I am too well accustomed to it for that.” 

“Have you been blind all your life?” Mrs. Bell 
asked, with real interest in her tone. 

“ Yes, or at least ever since I can remember, and, 
while my mother lived, I really didn’t mind it very 
much. Everyone was so good to me, and I was so 
happy.” My voice shook, and the tears would come in 
spite of all my efforts to keep them back. 

Mrs. Bell leaned forward in her chair, and laid her 
kind little hand on mine. 

“ My poor child ! ” she said, “ I am so sorry for you. 
I wish I could say something to comfort you, for I 
know how it hurts. I can’t remember my mother, she 
died when I was a little child, but I adored my father, 
and when he was taken away from me, I thought for a 
long time that I could never be happy again.” 

“ But you were not like me; you were not left all 
alone in the world,” I sobbed, letting the tears have their 
own way now. 

“ Perhaps I was more like you than you think,” she 
said, gently, “ for when my father died, a great change 
came into my life. He was a clergyman, and I had spent 
my childhood in the dear old rectory of one of the love- 
liest English villages you can picture. After my father’s 
death I had to leave my old home, and, as there was very 
little money left, I was obliged to work for my living. I 
was fortunate in securing a position as governess in a 
family who were old acquaintances of my mother’s, but 
it was not a happy home, and for the next two years my 


SILVER LININGS 


260 

life was a very hard one. So you see, dear, I know, too, 
how it feels to be sad and lonely.” 

“ You always do me good,” I said, drying my eyes, 
and trying to smile, “ though why it should comfort me 
to hear that other people have been as unhappy as my- 
self I am sure I don’t know. But you seem so bright 
and cheerful. I am sure you must have been much 
braver than I am.” 

“ I am afraid I wasn’t always very brave,” she said, 
laughing, “ but I had one great comfort. I was en- 
gaged to be married, and at the end of those two years 
my fiance was able to come and take me away to the 
dear little home he had made for me.” 

“ Was that in England, too? ” I asked, interested in 
spite of myself. 

“Yes, at first, but when we had been married a little 
over a year, and Lulu was a tiny baby, my husband de- 
cided to come back to America, where he had lived 
when he was a boy; so we came, and have lived here 
ever since.” 

“ And now you have this beautiful home, and that 
precious little child. Ah, no ! your story is not like mine, 
after all, for there is no beautiful home in store for me; 
there is only ‘ The Home for Destitute Blind.’ ” 

“ You don’t know that,” said Mrs. Bell, cheerfully; 
“ we none of us know what may be before us. If I 
had known in those hard years of all the happiness that 
was to come to me, it would have made a great differ- 
ence. I hope I am grateful enough for my blessings, 
but sometimes I’m afraid that I make too much of an 
idol of my little girl. My husband says I do. I know 


AMORNINGCALL 261 

it is wrong, but I feel that if anything should ever hap- 
pen to her it would surely kill me.” 

“ Mrs. Bell,” I said, yielding to a sudden impulse, 
“ I should like to tell you about myself, if it wouldn’t 
bore you to listen. You are so kind, and I think you 
might be able to advise me what I ought to do.” 

I paused abruptly, as I heard someone enter the 
room. 

“ A telegram for you, Mrs. Bell.” 

Mrs. Bell started to her feet, tore open the envelope, 
and in another moment her whole manner changed. 

“ Ellen, tell Katy to come here, and help me to get 
my things together, and tell James to have the carriage 
at the door in half an hour. I must catch the eleven- 
forty.” She spoke quickly, and her voice trembled in 
suppressed excitement. 

“ I am sorry to be obliged to leave you so suddenly,” 
she added kindly, turning to me, ‘‘ but this telegram is 
most important. My husband is in Boston, and he 
wishes me to join him there this evening. When I 
come back I will see you again, and then I should be 
very glad to hear your story.” 

Kind as she was, it was easy to see that, for the mo- 
ment, at least, she had lost all interest in me, and my 
only desire was to get away as soon as possible. This 
was easily managed, for Lulu returning at that mo- 
ment, readily consented to take me down to the kitchen, 
though not until she had prevailed upon me to accept a 
small china doll and a china teapot, “ ’cause,” as she ex- 
plained, “ it’s always nice to have something to take 
home when you go visiting.” 


262 


SILVER LININGS 


I found Mr. Henderson waiting for me, and we were 
soon retracing our steps along the shady lane. 

“Well, did you have a good time?” the old man 
inquired, kindly. 

“Oh, yes! Mrs. Bell was very kind; I think she 
is the loveliest person I have ever met. But I am afraid 
she is in trouble,” and I went on to tell of the arrival of 
the telegram. 

I thought Mr. Henderson seemed rather sorry to 
hear that Mrs. Bell was going away. 

“ I wish she’d take the child along,” he said, “ or 
else get someone better fitted to take charge of her than 
that scatterbrained girl.” 

I had not been prepossessed in the nurse’s favour my- 
self, and I said so, frankly. 

“ She’s a silly, stuck-up little fool, that’s what she is,” 
the farmer observed, with unusual animation. “ How 
my wife can fancy her as she does is what beats me. 
Women are queer critters, even the best of them.” 

“ Is Katy a friend of Mrs. Henderson’s? ” I asked. 

“ Well, she aint a friend, exactly, but she’s got into 
the way of dropping in for a chat once in a while. It’s 
my opinion that she’s so fond of gossip that it doesn’t 
much matter who she gossips with. She’s fond of my 
wife’s cooking, too, and the way she’ll sit and munch, 
and chatter about things that don’t concern her, drives 
me almost past bearing sometimes. I’ve always heard 
the Bells were first-rate folks to live with, and don’t be- 
lieve they’d like the idea of having their affairs talked 
over in every house in town, if they knew it.” 

Mr. Henderson relapsed into silence after that out- 


A MORNING CALL 263 

burst, and nothing more was said on the subject, but 
the farmer’s words had made me vaguely uncomfort- 
able. I could not bear to think of that dear little child 
left to the tender mercies of a cross, careless, nurse, and 
I could not help wondering what the important busi- 
ness was that had taken the mother away so suddenly. 

Mrs. Henderson seemed interested in hearing of my 
visit, and asked me several questions about what Mrs. 
Bell had said. When I told her of the telegram, she 
grew, for her, really quite excited. 

“ You don’t say she’s off again,” she exclaimed, indig- 
nantly. “ Well, the way those people do go tearing 
about all over the country does beat everything I ever 
heard tell of. Katy, that’s the nurse, and a nice, bright 
little body she is, too — comes over here to cheer me up, 
now and then, and the queer goings-on that she tells me 
of are enough to make your flesh creep. It’s all been in 
the last few months, too. Last summer, Katy says, you 
wouldn’t find a quieter, more regular-acting family than 
they were, but ever since the middle of the winter some- 
thing queer’s been going on. He’s that queer and 
grumpy no one can get a word out of him, and he’s 
hardly at home for a week together. Half a dozen 
times he’s sent her telegrams, and she’s gone flying off at 
a minute’s notice, no one knows where. Altogether, 
it’s mighty queer, I think.” 

“ Come, now, mother,” put in the farmer, good-na- 
turedly, “ don’t you go bothering your head over other 
folks’ affairs. I guess the Bells are able to take care of 
themselves, without any help from us, or from Katy, 
either.” 


SILVER LININGS 


264 

At this gentle rebuke, Mrs. Henderson relapsed into 
silence, and I heard nothing more about the Bells’ mys- 
terious conduct that day. But in the middle of the 
night, I was awakened by a severe thunder-storm, and 
could not get to sleep again. I lay for a long time 
thinking of the little lonely child, in the big, luxurious 
house, only half a mile away, and wondering if she, too, 
had been wakened by the storm, and was frightened 
because there were no tender mother arms to hold her 
close, only cross Katy to bid her go to sleep again, and 
not to be a goose. 


XXI 

MRS. Sheehan’s warning 

T he next day was Sunday. Mr. Henderson 
went to church in the morning, but his wife and 
I stayed at home, and spent the time sitting idly 
on the porch, alternately chatting and dozing. In the 
afternoon the farmer kindly proposed to read aloud to 
us, but as he was a strict Methodist, and never indulged 
in any secular literature on the Sabbath, I cannot say 
that the reading was particularly exciting. He first read 
us a long sermon, and then an account of some mis- 
sionary work in Africa, both articles being from the 
pages of a religious weekly paper. Mrs. Henderson 
fell asleep and snored peacefully through the sermon, 
but that fact did not appear to trouble her husband in 
the least. He remarked cheerfully that “ mother gen- 
erally did drop off ” when anyone read aloud, but that 
he always made it a rule to read to her on Sunday after- 
noons, as it kept him in practice. In the evening some 
visitors came, and I escaped to my room and went to bed 
early, being untroubled that night by either thunder- 
storms or anxious thoughts. 

When I came downstairs on Monday morning I was 
rather surprised to learn from Mrs. Henderson that her 
husband intended going to the city that day on some 
business connected with the farm, and that he would 
probably not return until the following day. 

265 


266 


SILVER LININGS 

“ He’ll spend the night with our married daughter,” 
she explained. “ He don’t often get a change, so I 
suppose I oughtn’t to say nothing, but I do hate to be 
left in the house at night without a man in it. If ever 
anything is going to happen, it’s bound to be just when 
the men folks are out of the way.” 

Mr. Henderson departed soon after breakfast, and 
his wife and I settled down to another quiet day. It was 
a cool, cloudy morning, with a strong wind blowing 
from the east, and something in the sound of the wind 
among the trees seemed to make me restless and de- 
pressed. I was sorry when all the simple housework 
was finished, for somehow I could not bear to sit still, 
and, at last, when the midday dinner was over, and the 
dishes had been washed and put away, I coaxed Mrs. 
Henderson to let me go out by myself, and walk up and 
down the flagged path between the house and the gate. 

I had been pacing up and down this short walk for 
some little time, finding a certain relief in the active 
exercise, when I heard a waggon stopping at the gate, 
and a cheery voice called to me : 

“ Halloa, there ! I’ve brought your mail. I met Mr. 
Henderson going to the station this morning, and he 
told me he was off for the city, so, when I stopped at the 
office a few minutes ago, I thought I might as well bring 
your letters along.” 

I recognised the voice as belonging to Bob Sawyer, 
a good-natured young farmer, whose farm adjoined Mr. 
Henderson’s, and whom I had already met several times 
since I had been at Peak’s Point, and I went forward to 
take the letters he held out to me. 


MRS. SHEER AN^S WARNING 267 

“ There aint much,” he remarked, handing me two 
newspapers and a letter. “ The papers are for Mr. Hen- 
derson, and the letter’s for you, I think. Your name’s 
Sheehan, aint it? ” 

“ Yes,” I said, my heart beginning to flutter, for it 
was a long time since I had received a letter from any- 
one, and then, suddenly remembering the difficulty Mrs. 
Henderson always found in deciphering handwriting, I 
added rather timidly : “ Would you mind reading it to 
me ? I can’t read myself, you know.” 

“ To be sure, I will,” said the young man, pleasantly. 
“ Betsey ’ll be glad of a minute’s rest before she climbs 
the hill; we’ve been all the way to Garrisons and back 
since ten o’clock.” And, having opened the letter, and 
cleared his throat impressively, he began to read in a 
loud, rather declamatory style. I learned afterwards 
that Mr. Sawyer was very proud of his reading, having 
carried off most of the prizes for elocution at the high 
school. 

“ My Dear Margaret: 

“ I was very pleased to receive Mr. Henderson’s 
postal, telling of your safe arrival, and that you were 
not feeling any the worse for your journey. I am sure 
you will be pleased to hear that Mr. Sheehan has almost 
entirely regained his usual state of health. 

“ I received a letter yesterday from Mademoiselle 
Mathilde, in which she speaks very kindly of Mollie. 
She says the child is doing well, and is beginning to be a 
great help to her. Mollie herself sent her love, and 
hoped that Mr. Sheehan and I were both well. 


268 SILVERLININGS 

I trust that you are much improved by your change 
of air, and that by the time you return you may be in 
your usual state of health. 

“ The weather is very much cooler, and we are all 
much refreshed in consequence. 

“ There is one thing more which I must say before 
closing. You remember the advertisement I mentioned 
to you? Well, it still continues, and I regret to say 
that, contrary to my wishes, Mr. Sheehan has decided to 
answer it. He appears to think that it is his duty to do 
so. I thought it best to inform you of this fact that 
you might act accordingly. Mr. Sheehan has not com- 
municated with the parties as yet, but he may do so at 
any time. 

“I must now close, with the hope that I may soon have 
the pleasure of hearing from you through Mr. or Mrs. 
Henderson, to both of whom I send my respects, and 
remain 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“ Mary Sheehan.'^ 

I stood perfectly still. My hands were tightly 
clenched, but I think that was the only sign I betrayed of 
the storm of despair which seemed almost overwhelm- 
ing me. Mr. Sawyer replaced the letter in the envelope, 
and leaning forward in his seat, placed it once more in 
my hand. 

“ Here’s your letter,” he said — “ not much in it, was 
there ? ” I felt that he must be looking at me curi- 
ously, and made a mighty effort to answer in a natural 
tone. 


MRS- SHEEHAN^S WARNING 269 

“ No, not much,” I assented; “ it was very kind of 
you to read it to me.” I was moving away towards the 
house, but he called me back. 

Say, would you like to have a drive some time? ” 

“ A drive — yes, thank you, you are very kind.” 

“ I’ll come for you to-morrow, then. Mr. Hender- 
son don’t keep a horse, you know. Betsey’s slow, but 
she’s safe. Say, there aint nothing the matter with you, 
is there? ” 

“Anything the matter — no, of course not, why should 
there be? ” 

“ Well, I didn’t know; you looked kind of white and 
queer, that’s all. I must be off now, mother ’ll be tired 
of keeping dinner hot for me. Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye,” I repeated wearily, and then I turned 
and went into the house. 

Mrs. Henderson had already settled herself for her 
afternoon nap, but she was not yet asleep, for she 
called to me as I was tiptoeing softly upstairs. 

“ Is that you, Margaret — where are you going? ” 

“ To my room,” I answered, without turning round. 
“ I have a headache, and I think I’ll lie down for a little 
while.” 

“ Oh, very well ! If you want some camphor you’ll 
find the bottle on the shelf over my bed. Camphor’s 
first-rate for a headache.” 

“ Thank you, but I don’t think I shall need anything; 
my head isn’t so very bad.” 

Mrs. Henderson said no more, and I climbed the 
stairs wearily, and entered my own little room. Then 
all my strength seemed suddenly to give way, and, with 


SILVER LININGS 


270 

a low moan, I sank upon my knees, and buried my face 
in my hands. 

I did not cry ; I did not even struggle against my fate 
any longer; I never even thought of trying to escape. 
It was all so terribly, hopelessly plain. The tempta- 
tion of the reward had proved too much for Mr. 
Sheehan. I did not blame him; it was only natural, 
and he had already shown me more kindness and con- 
sideration than one man in a thousand would have done. 
Mrs. Sheehan had' thought it her duty to warn me, 
though she must have known how useless such a warn- 
ing would be. Doubtless her husband had already 
carried out his intention, and George and his friends 
were on my track. At any moment they might arrive — 
might find me, and drag me back to what? I dared not 
even think. 

How long I knelt there alone in the awful darkness, 
that seemed more awful to me than ever before in my 
life, I do not know. It may have been hours; it may 
have been only minutes. Once I started violently on 
hearing a knock, followed by voices in the distance — 
was that George’s voice ? Had they found me already ? 
But no one came near me, and my terror subsided again 
into dull despair. 

The sound that roused me at last was the very last I 
should have expected to hear; the voice of a little child. 

“ You do say awful long prayers, don’t you? ” 

I lifted my head, and struggled feebly to my feet. 

“ Lulu,” I faltered, in bewilderment, “ little Lulu, is 
it you? ” 

“ Yes, it’s me,” responded the baby voice, “ and I’ve 


MRS. Sheehan's warning 271 
corned to see you. Mamma said I might before she 
went away. Katy bringed me, and just feel what IVe 
bringed you. Sit down on the bed, and I’ll put them 
into your lap.” 

I complied mechanically, still feeling as if I were 
acting in a dream, and next moment a shower of wild 
flowers was poured into my lap. 

“ I picked them all my own self,” announced my little 
visitor, triumphantly. “ Katy said you wouldn’t care 
’cause you couldn’t see them, but I said you could feel 
them, and you can, can’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed I can,” I said, and then, with a sudden 
impulse, I drew the child into my arms, and held her 
close, feeling, oh, such a comfort in the touch of the 
warm little face and the soft curls. 

“ Will you kiss me. Lulu? ” I said, wistfully. 

In a second the soft little arms were clinging round 
my neck ; the baby face was pressed close to mine. 

“’Course I’ll kiss you; I’ll give you lots of kisses, 
’cause I love you. Do you love me? ” 

“Love you? Oh, Lulu!” I could not say any 
more; I could only clasp her tight, while something 
warm and tender seemed creeping back into my heart. 
But such silent affection was not quite to Lulu’s taste, 
and in a few moments she released herself gently from 
my embrace. 

“ What makes you say your prayers in the day- 
time? ” she inquired, with evident interest. “ Kate says 
I mustn’t say mine ’cept at night when I go to bed.” 

“ Where is Kitty now? ” I asked, evading a reply to 
the first part of Lulu’s remark. 


SILVER LININGS 


272 

“ Downstairs talking to the old lady. I was playing 
with the pussy, but she ran away, so I came to see 
you.” 

“ Did you come up here all by yourself? ” 

“ All by my own self,” said Lulu, proudly. “ I came 
very softly, so as not to ’sturb you. The old lady said 
you had a headache. Is it very bad? ” 

“ Not so very,” I said, trying to smile. 

“ I’ll pet it for you,” said Lulu, with a sudden inspira- 
tion. “ Papa had a headache one day, and I sat on the 
sofa and petted it, and it got all well. You lie down on 
the bed, and I’ll lie down too, and then I’ll pet your 
head.” 

I complied very willingly, and there certainly was 
something soothing in the touch of the soft, cool little 
hand stroking my hot forehead. 

“ Does it feel better? ” Lulu inquired at the end of 
about three minutes’ industrious ‘petting,’ “ is it most 
well now ? ” 

I assured her that it was a great deal better, which 
information appeared to afford her the utmost satis- 
faction. 

“ I ’most always make people well right away,” she 
observed complacently. “ Mamma says I’m a good 
little nurse.” 

“ Has your mamma come back yet. Lulu? ” 

“ No,” said the child, sadly; “ she does stay away an 
awful long time. Katy says maybe she’ll come back 
to-morrow. I guess she’ll bring me something; she 
always does when she goes away. Are you sure your 
head’s ’most all well? ” 


MRS. SHEEHAN'S WARNING 273 

“Yes, very sure. Your mamma is right; you are a 
splendid little nurse.” 

“ Then if it’s really all well, won’t you please tell me 
a story? I do love stories, and Kitty says she doesn’t 
know any.” 

I did not feel much in the humour for story-telling, 
but who could resist the coaxing of that sweet baby 
voice? Almost before I realised what I was doing, I 
was half-way through ‘ The Fair One with Golden 
Locks.’ My little visitor seemed well pleased, and, 
when I had finished that interesting tale, remarked cheer- 
fully. “ That’s a very nice story; now tell me another, 
please.” 

I was in the middle of ‘ Jack the Giant Killer,’ when 
the sound of Katy’s voice, calling from the foot of the 
stairs, brought us back to everyday realities again. 

“Lulu, Lulu, are you up there? Good gracious, 
where can that child be? ” It was evident that in the 
interest in her gossip with Mrs. Henderson Katy had 
for the time forgotten her little charge. 

“ I’m here, Katy,” responded Lulu, cheerfully. 
“ The lady what can’t see is telling me a beautiful story. 
Can’t I stay just a little longer? ” 

“No, indeed, you can’t; not another minute. It’s 
beginning to rain, and we’ve got to hurry home just as 
quick as we can.” 

Lulu sighed, but she was an obedient little soul, so 
she slipped down off the bed, remarking sadly as she did 
so: 

“ I’ve got to go, but I’ll come again, and then you can 
tell me the rest of the story.” 


274 SILVER LININGS 

A sharp pang shot through my heart, as I thought 
of what might have happened before Lulu and I could 
meet again, but I tried to smile as I promised to finish 
the story whenever she liked. Then I too, rose, and 
to Lulu’s delight, agreed to her proposal that she 
should “ lead me downstairs,” a task which she per- 
formed with great pride and satisfaction to herself. 

We found Katy and Mrs. Henderson both in earnest 
contempfation of the weather. 

” I declare it’s just too provoking,” the nurse was 
saying, in a tone of decided vexation as we entered the 
kitchen. “ It’s raining hard and we haven’t even an 
umbrella. Mrs. Bell is so fussy, I shall never hear the 
last of it if that child gets her feet wet. She’ll be sure 
to take cold; she always does.” 

“ Wait a while, and maybe the rain will stop,” 
Mrs. Henderson suggested. 

“ No, it won’t; it’s been looking like a storm all day, 
and now it’s settled for a wet evening. Oh, dear, oh 
dear! what ever shall I do? ” 

“ Won’t they send the carriage for you if it keeps 
on r 

“ No one knows where we are. I don’t consider it 
necessary to tell those Irish people everything I intend 
to do,” said Katy, airily. “ Lulu is left in my charge; 
I can take her wherever I choose.” 

“ Then why can’t you stay here all night? ” proposed 
Mrs. Henderson, with unusual animation. “ Mr. 
Henderson’s away, and Margaret and me are here all 
alone. I’d be just delighted to have you for company, 
for I always do feel so lonesome when Pa aint here at 


MRS. Sheehan's warning 275 
night. I can lend you anything you need, and we can 
fix the little one up real comfortable, too.” 

Katy appeared to hesitate. 

“ Well, I don’t know but what we will,” she said, 
slowly. “ Mrs. Bell won’t be home till to-morrow; a 
telegram came just before I left. It ’ll be awful work 
getting home in this rain, and if there’s a row about my 
keeping the child out all night — well, I’m sure I can’t 
help it. I don’t intend to stay there long anyway, and 
if I leave for one reason or another, what’s the differ- 
ence? As for those Irish girls, I’m quite indifferent to 
their opinion. I guess they’ll have sense enough to 
know we went in somewhere out of the storm.” 

So the matter was settled, much to Mrs. Henderson’s 
satisfaction, and the hospitable old woman hobbled 
away to make preparation for the reception of her 
unexpected guests. Lulu was delighted at the prospect 
of spending the night in a strange place, and was soon 
comfortably settled on my lap, listening to the further 
adventures of that interesting hero. Jack the Giant 
Killer. Katy asked for a comb, with which to arrange 
her bangs, and then settled herself in the rocking-chair, 
and prepared to play lady. She treated me with a con- 
descending patronage which at another time would 
have amused me greatly. She had learned from Mrs. 
Henderson that I was an inmate of a Home, and that 
fact was quite sufficient to place me far beneath the 
notice of such a very elegant and aristocratic person as 
herself. 

The rain had settled into a steady downpour, which 
showed no signs of clearing. “ Jack the Giant Killer ” 


27^ SILVER LININGS 

was followed by “ Beauty and the Beast,” “ The Snow 
Queen,” and “ The Frog Prince.” I was glad of the 
occupation; it calmed for the time my nervous restless- 
ness, and kept me from thinking of the terrible future. 
Lulu was in the seventh heaven of content, and asked 
for no other amusement. So the afternoon wore on, 
and at six o’clock Mrs. Henderson called us all to 
supper. 


XXII 

FOR lulu's sake 



S soon as we rose from the supper table, Lulu 


tugged eagerly at my dress. 


“ Some more stories, please,” she whispered 


coaxingly; “ you do tell such lovely stories.” 

I smiled, and we were just slipping quietly away into 
our corner again, when Katy — who had ignored my 
existence during supper — interposed. 

“ Come now. Lulu,” she said, sharply, “ it’s past 
your bedtime, and I’m not going to let you stay up 
another minute.” 

Lulu heaved a deep sigh, but she evidently stood in 
for too much awe of Katy to dare to make any protest. 

“ Good-night,” she said, lifting her sweet little face 
to kiss me, but again Katy’s sharp voice interposed. 

“ Now come right along. Lulu, and don’t dawdle. 
You mustn’t kiss every strange woman you meet; it isn’t 
nice for little girls.” 

Mrs. Henderson accompanied her guest upstairs, in 
order to arrange for Lulu’s comfort, and I was left 
alone. My restlessness of a few hours before had given 
place to a dull misery. I threw myself wearily into the 
rocker that Katy had vacated, and resting my head 
against the wooden back, sat quite still, with closed eyes 
and folded hands. Of what use to struggle against my 
fate any longer? There was nothing to look forward 


278 SILVER LININGS 

to, no hope anywhere. There would be a few more 
hours of peace, and then George would come for me. 
What did it matter what became of me after 
that? What did anything matter when I was so tired? 
Perhaps God would answer my prayers, and I should 
not live very much longer. Oh, to be with mother 
again ! That was my only hope now. 

After a while Mrs. Henderson and Katy came back. 
Katy politely requested me to change my seat, and 
having no wish to hear any more of that amiable young 
person’s conversation that night, I promptly rose, and 
declared my intention of going to bed. 

“ It’s very early for bed,” Mrs. Henderson re- 
marked, kindly; “hadn’t you better sit a while with 
Katy and me ? ” 

I replied that my head still ached a little, and the kind 
old woman made no further objection to my doing as I 
pleased. Katy did not even condescend to wish me 
good-night. 

I had reached the top of the stairs, and was just 
going into my own room when my ear caught the sound 
of low, subdued crying. For one moment I hesitated, 
and then, with a quick step, I crossed the hall to the 
room which I knew had been prepared for Katy and her 
little charge. 

“ What’s the matter. Lulu, darling? ” I asked, softly. 

At the sound of my voice the child sprang up in bed, 
and, as I reached her side and bent over her, she threw 
her arms passionately around my neck. 

“ Don’t tell Katy,” she whispered. “ Katy said I 
must go right to sleep, and she’ll scold so.” 


FOR lulu's SAKE 279 

“ Of course I won’t,” I promised, sitting down on the 
edge of the bed, and holding the little figure close in my 
arms, “ but what are you crying for? Are you afraid 
to stay alone in the dark? ” 

“ Oh, no! ” said Lulu, somewhat indignantly, “ only 
babies are afraid, and I’m a big girl, ’most five. But — 
but ” — with a sudden quiver in her voice — “ I want my 
mamma — I do want her so very much.” 

“ But your mamma will be at home tomorrow,” I 
said, soothingly, “ and you know she is going to bring 
you something. I wonder what it will be, don’t you? ” 
“ Yes, but I want her tonight; I want her every night. 
She always tucks me up and kisses me, and I say my 
prayers to her.” 

A sudden recollection of my own happy childhood 
sent a spasm of pain through my heart, and I held Lulu 
still closer in my arms. 

“ Katy wouldn’t let me say my prayers,” said Lulu, 
mournfully; “she said she was in a hurry. Mamma 
isn’t ever in a hurry. Oh, I want her! I do, I do.” 
And the child’s grief broke forth afresh. 

I comforted her as well as I could, and when she had 
stopped crying, and I had dried her eyes with my 
handkerchief, I proposed that she should say her prayers 
to me instead of to Katy. This seemed to satisfy her, 
and sliding down out of my arms, she knelt at my knees, 
and, folding her little hands, reverently repeated : 

“ Now I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep,''’* 

When she had asked God to bless her papa and mamma, 


28 o silver linings 

and Katy, and everybody, she paused, and, lifting her 

head, inquired, “ What’s your name, please? ” 

“ Daisy,” I answered, simply. I felt that I could not 
tell that innocent little child anything but the truth. 
Besides there would soon be no longer any need for 
concealing the truth from anyone. 

“ Daisy,” repeated Lulu. “ God bless Daisy, 
’specially, please, because she can’t see, and because she 
was so good and told me such lovely stories. Make 
Lulu a good girl. Amen.” 

Then she rose, and unmindful of Katy’s instructions, 
threw her arms around my neck again, and gave me half 
a dozen of the sweetest kisses I had ever received in my 
life. 

“ That’s the way I always kiss mamma when I get 
through saying my prayers,” she exclaimed, as I tucked 
her up in bed once more. “ Where’s your mamma? ” 
she added, with a sudden thought. 

“ She is in heaven,” I said, sorrowfully. 

“ My grandpapa is in heaven,” said Lulu, apparently 
struck by the coincidence, “ and some day papa and 
mamma and me are all going to see him. Why don’t 
you go to see your mamma ? ” 

“ Because God won’t let me; I want to go very, very 
much.” 

“ Did you ask Him? ” inquired Lulu, anxiously. 

“ Yes, a great many times.” 

“ Perhaps He will some day if you’re very, very 
good,” said Lulu, consolingly. “ Katy says people 
can’t go to heaven unless they’re very good. Now 
won’t you please tell me just one more little story? 


FOR lulu's sake 281 

Mamma always tells me a tiny story before I go to 
sleep.” 

I did tell “ one little story ” and more than one, if the 
truth must be told, and I stayed with Lulu until her 
regular breathing assured me that she was fast asleep. 
Then I bent down, and having kissed one of the long, 
soft curls that lay in tangled confusion over the pillow, I 
stole softly out of the room. 

I did not undress at once when I had reached my own 
room, but sitting down in a chair by the open window, 
let the cool night air blow on my throbbing temples. 
My excuse of a headache had been no falsehood; I had 
no desire for sleep. The rain had ceased, but the wind 
was still blowing, and the sound of the rustling leaves 
seemed inexpressibly dreary. 

At nine o’clock the two women came upstairs. Just 
outside my door they paused, and I heard Katy say : 

“What’s that queer smell, Mrs. Henderson? It 
seems as if something was burning. I’ve noticed it all 
the evening.” 

“It’s only the woods on fire,” returned Mrs. Hen- 
derson, carelessly. “ We often smell it.” 

“ Well, it’s disagreeable enough, for it keeps getting 
in my throat and choking me. There, I forgot to 
bring up those toothache plasters you gave me. My 
tooth was real bad when I came, but that plaster has 
’most cured it.” 

Mrs. Henderson proposed going down again, but 
Katy declared that would not be necessary, adding that, 
should her tooth begin aching again, she could go her- 
self, as she knew just where she had left the plasters. 


282 SILVER LININGS 

Then they bade each other good-night, and their doors 

closed. After that it was very still. 

I sat by the open window for a long, long time. I 
think I must have fallen into a kind of stupor, for I was 
not conscious of any distinct sensations. My mind 
seemed to wander away from the present. I found 
myself thinking of all sorts of odd, incongruous things. 
Old memories came floating back. Little incidents of 
my childhood ; people I had once known, but of whom I 
had not thought in a long time. Among other things 
I remembered that first journey to Chicago, and my old 
nurse Nanna. What a strange life mine had been! 
Suppose my own parents had lived. Suppose my 
brother had not gone away. I should not be alone and 
friendless now — alone and friendless to face the awful 
fate that George had prepared for me. 

Hark! what was that? It was only the whistle of 
the late train, but, as it went echoing away among the 
hills, I sprang to my feet suddenly, trembling from head 
to foot. It was by a train that George must come. 
Only a few more hours of liberty, and then — ^but I would 
not let my thoughts take that turn now. I would go to 
bed, and perhaps I should fall asleep and forget for a 
little while. It was getting very late, and I was so 
cold — so cold. 

But before I undressed I would say my prayers. I 
could not go to sleep without asking God to take care 
of me. I thought of little Lulu’s words, ” Perhaps he 
will some time if you are very, very good. Katy says 
people can’t go to Heaven unless they are very good.” 
I was not very good; I had often had hard, wicked 


FOR lulu's SAKE 283 

thoughts, I knew, but, oh, I did want God to love me. 
I was so frightened, so helpless. 

I dropped on my knees beside the bed, and folded my 
hands. But what was the matter? The words I 
wanted would not frame themselves in my mind. At 
last, in sheer despair, I began repeating the words that 
I had heard Lulu say that evening; the simple, childish 
words that I myself had many and many a night lisped 
at mother’s knee : 

“ Now I lay me down to sleepy 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep; 

If I should die before I wake, 

I pray the Lord my soul to take^ 

“ Fire, fire ! Oh, Mrs. Henderson, come quick, the 
house is on fire.” 

What was that loud, sudden cry that rang out 
through the silent house? It was followed by a suc- 
cession of shrill screams uttered in Katy’s high-pitched 
voice. Mrs. Henderson and Katy were already there. 
Then came the answering cry from Mrs. Henderson; 
more screams, and the sound of hurrying feet. 

I had sprung to my feet, and for one awful moment 
stood still, petrified by sudden horror. Then came a 
wild blind impulse, that swallowed up every other 
thought and feeling — the impulse to escape. With one 
bound I had reached the door and flung it open. A 
volume of thick, choking smoke rushed in, and from 
below there came a strange, roaring, crackling sound. 
For one moment I paused bewildered, but in the next I 
had found the stairs, and was rushing down. 


284 SILVER LININGS 

I hurried out into the porch, guided by the sound of 
voices. Mrs. Henderson and Kitty were already there ; 
the former moaning piteously and wringing her hands ; 
the latter screaming loudly for help. Poor Mrs. Hen- 
derson literally fell upon my neck. 

“Oh, Margaret, Margaret!” she wailed. “Oh, 
it’s too dreadful ; whatever shall I do ? Everything will 
go ; I can’t save anything. Oh, if Pa was only here.” 

“ How did it happen? ” I asked, trying to soothe the 
poor trembling old soul as best I could. 

“I don’t know, oh, I don’t know! Katy found it 
out; she went downstairs for something, and smelled the 
smoke. Oh dear, oh dear ! Can’t you make somebody 
hear — won’t somebody come? ” 

“ Katy came downstairs,” I repeated. “ Then,” with 
a sudden thought, “where is Lulu? What have you 
done with her? ” 

My words seemed to recall Mrs. Henderson more to 
herself. She had been too dazed and bewildered for 
the first few moments to remember anything. 

“ Where’s the child, Katy? ” she demanded, fiercely, 
turning upon the nurse; “ what have you done with the 
child ? Good God, Katy, you haven’t left her behind ! ” 

For answer Katy burst into a passion of wild, hys- 
terical sobbing. 

“ I was afraid to go back,” she said, “ the smoke was 
so thick. I thought one of you would surely bring her.” 

With a stifled exclamation, I sprang towards the open 
house door, from which volumes of smoke were now 
pouring. Mrs. Henderson caught my dress. 

“ Don’t go, oh, don’t go! ” she implored; “ it won’t 


FOR lulu's sake 285 

be any use. You’ll be suffocated; you’ll both be burned. 
It’s too late. Oh, my God, my God ! 

With a wrench I freed myself from the old woman’s 
detaining clasp, and next moment was dashing up the 
stairs. Never before in my life had my blindness 
served me in such good stead. I did not need to see to 
find my way through that thick, choking smoke, and 
my ears were a sure guide to lead me to the room from 
whence came those piteous, agonised cries : 

“ Katy, Katy, oh, please come back. I’m so afraid. 
Oh, Katy, Katy!” 

“ Don’t be frightened. Lulu, darling; I am here. I’ll 
take care of you.” 

I had reached the bed and snatched the little one in 
my arms. Next moment I was rushing back in the 
direction of the stairs. Oh, the dreadful smoke I I was 
growing dull and confused; there were dreadful sharp 
pains in my head. The roaring, crackling noise seemed 
frightfully near now. We had reached the top of the 
stairs when the child in my arms uttered a loud, terrified 
cry. 

“ No, no 1 ” she screamed, clinging frantically to my 
neck. “ Don’t go down there, it’s all fire. Oh, I’m 
so afraid I I’m so afraid.” 

For an instant I hesitated, then turned and ran back 
into the room we had just left, closing the door behind 
me. Already there was a sound of shouting and a 
trampling of feet below; evidently Katy had succeeded 
in arousing the neighbourhood. 

I rushed to the open window, and leaned out, still 
holding the child in my arms. The fresh night air 


286 SILVER LININGS 

blowing on my face gave me a sensation of momentary 
relief. With all my remaining strength I shouted for 
help. “ Save the child, save the poor child ! ” 

There was a shout from below. 

“ Hold on a minute till we fetch a ladder. We’ll 
save you both.” 

“ Don’t hold me quite so tight, Lulu, my pet,” I 
gasped, trying to loosen the little fingers that were 
clutching my throat so convulsively. “ Watch for the 
ladder; they are going to take us down on a ladder.” 

“ Oh, I want mamma, I want mamma ! ” wailed the 
child. “ Oh, Daisy ! do you think God will take care 
of us?” 

“ Yes, darling, I am sure He will. Look now, and 
tell me what they are doing.” 

“They’ve got a big long ladder,” exclaimed the child, 
eagerly; “they’ve got it right here, and, oh! Mr. 
Sawyer’s coming up on it.” 

Sure enough; in another second I could hear Bob 
Sawyer’s kindly voice shouting words of encouragement 
to us. 

“ Reach out as far as you can, and hand me down the 
child. I’ll be back for you in a minute. Get down on 
your hands and knees ; the smoke won’t be so bad then. 
Don’t give up ; it’s only a minute longer.” 

I did as he directed. I felt his strong arms take the 
child from my embrace. I heard a shout of triumph 
from below. And then I breathed a sigh of unutterable 
relief and thankfulness; the child at least was safe. 

Then there was a crash of something falling behind 
me. The roaring was close in my ears, and a rush of 


FOR lulu's sake 287 

something hot and suffocating seemed to choke me and 
take my breath. 

“ The door has fallen in,” I heard someone cry, and 
a dozen voices seemed to take up the words. 

“ Jump, jump, for God's sake ! ” shouted Bob 
Sawyer. “ It's your only chance.'' 

The fire was very close to me now. One wild, 
breathless prayer; a spring, the sensation of falling 
down, down into illimitable space, and then — nothing 
more. 


XXIII 

I AM CARED FOR AND FIND A FRIEND INSTEAD OF 
AN ENEMY 

T he next sensation of which I became conscious 
was a dull pain in my head. Everything was 
very still, and I was lying on a bed which struck 
me as being softer and more comfortable than the beds 
at Mrs. Henderson’s. I had no distinct idea of where 
I was, or of what had happened, and indeed, for the first 
few moments, I felt too languid and tired to care. 
Then I slowly raised my hand to my forehead, to try, 
if possible, to discover the cause of that strange, dull 
pain just over the temple, and found, to my surprise, 
that my head was completely enveloped in a thick 
bandage. I also made another discovery; my clothes 
had been removed, and I was wearing a nightgown 
with ruffles on the sleeves. Ruffled night dresses not 
having been a part of my toilette of late, this naturally 
caused me considerable curiosity. Before I had time 
to form any speculations on this interesting discovery, 
however, I heard a slight sound by the bedside, and 
became conscious of the fact that someone was bending 
over me. 

“ Where am I? ” I inquired, faintly. 

“ With friends, and quite safe,” said a sweet, well- 
remembered voice. 

“ Mrs. Bell,” I said slowly, “ Mrs. Bell, you here? 

288 


I AM CARED FOR 289 

Oh ” — with a sudden rush of memory — “where’s 
Lulu? Is Lulu safe? ” 

“ She is fast asleep in the next room. She wasn’t in 
the least hurt, only frightened, poor darling, and we 
think she will be all right in the morning.” Mrs. 
Bell’s voice quivered, but she was evidently making a 
great effort to speak calmly. 

“ And is this your house? ” I faltered, still very much 
puzzled. “ How did I get here? ” 

“ We brought you and Lulu both home. You were 
stunned from the fall, and your head was cut, but you 
will be all right in a little while.” 

“ Fall,” I repeated, vaguely, “ did I fall? Oh, yes! 
I remember; they told me to jump; someone said it was 
my only chance. I don’t remember anything more after 
that.” 

“ Don’t think about it any more than you can help,” 
said Mrs. Bell, soothingly, as I began to shudder con- 
vulsively at the horrible recollection. “ Try to lie still 
and go to sleep for a while; it isn’t near morning yet.” 

“ I don’t feel sleepy,” I protested. “ I want to hear 
about it all. They said you were not coming home till 
to-morrow.” 

“ I will tell you everything by and by; you must keep 
quiet now, or you will be ill.” 

She brought me a glass with some medicine, which 
she said I must swallow, but when I tried to raise myself 
to take the glass in my hand, I grew suddenly so sick 
and faint that I was thankful to obey my nurse’s com- 
mand to lie down again at once, only murmuring faintly 
as I sank back upon the pillow : 


290 SILVER LININGS 

“ Fm SO sorry to give you so much trouble.” 

“ Trouble — oh, my dear, my dear! ” And then all 
at once her self-control gave way, and she was kissing 
me and crying over me just as mother might have done. 

“You saved my baby,” she sobbed; “you risked 
your own life to save my baby, when that cruel woman 
had left her to burn. Oh, what can I say to you? 
How can I ever let you know what I feel. Oh, my dear, 
my dear! ” 

Oh, it was beautiful, beautiful to be kissed and cried 
over; yes, and to be thanked and praised as well. My 
heart grew suddenly lighter than it had been in many 
and many a day; for the time I had forgotten George 
and that terrible advertisement. But Mrs. Bell was a 
sensible little woman, and in a very few moments she 
had recovered her usual self-command, and was urging 
upon me the imperative necessity of lying still and try- 
ing to sleep. 

“You won’t leave me alone? ” I pleaded, nervously. 
“ It was all so dreadful; I couldn’t bear to be alone just 
now.” 

“ No, indeed, my darling, I will not leave you for a 
moment, and you must remember that you are quite 
safe, and that all your troubles are over. Perhaps that 
thought will help you to sleep.” 

I remembered George and the advertisement, and 
smothered a sigh, but this was no time for explanation. 
Mrs. Bell lay down beside me on the bed, and then 
everything was very still again. 

Mrs. Bell’s quiet, regular breathing soon told me that 
she had fallen asleep, but there was no sleep for me that 


I am cared for 291 

night. Everything was horribly clear to me now, and 
the events of the past few hours stood out in all their 
terrible, grim reality. I had wanted to die, and I had 
been frightfully near to death, but I was not dead; God 
had not answered my prayer. Was I glad or sorry? — 
I scarcely knew. There was one thing for which I was 
glad, very glad. I had saved little Lulu Bell. There 
would always be comfort in that thought, whatever 
happened afterwards. 

It was a long, long time that I lay thinking of many, 
many things. I was afraid to move lest I should disturb 
my sleeping companion. I did not want to give any 
more trouble than I could help. Well, it could not be 
for long, anyway, for in the morning George would 
surely come and then he would take me away. I won- 
dered if Mrs. Bell would be vexed with me for having 
concealed my real name. She would be sorry for me, I 
was sure, but of what use would all her sorrow and all 
her kindness be? George was my natural guardian; he 
was well known, respected. What was my word against 
his ? I felt the great choking sobs rising in my throat, 
but with a mighty effort I kept them back, remember- 
ing that Mrs. Bell had said I should be ill if I did not 
keep still. I did not want to be ill if I could help it. 

At last I heard the first faint twitter among the birds, 
and I knew that the dawn had come. After that I think 
I must have really dropped off asleep, probably worn out 
from worry and excitement, for the next thing I remem- 
ber was discovering that Mrs. Bell had risen, and that I 
was alone. I was not, however, left long in solitude, 
for, just as I was beginning to wonder what time it was, 


292 S I L V E R L I N I N G S 

and if I might venture to get up, my hostess came hurry- 
ing into the room. 

“ You’ve had a nice long sleep,” she said, stooping 
to kiss me. “ Do you feel better? Have you any 
pain?” 

I said that the pain in my head was much better, and 
that otherwise I felt quite well, at which information I 
thought she seemed much relieved. 

“ You must lie still all day, and let us take care of 
you,” she said, decidedly. “ The doctor says you must 
keep very quiet for a day or two ; you have had a dread- 
ful shock, and that blow on your head wasn’t a light 
one. 

I had no objection to make to this arrangement. I 
was so unused to illness of any kind that just to lie still 
and be taken care of was a very delightful sensation. 
When I had been ill at the Home no one had had much 
spare time to devote to me, and it was so long since 
anyone had petted me. 

“ May I see Lulu by and by? ” I asked, as Mrs. Bell 
smoothed out the bed-clothes and shook up my pillow, 
after making me as tidy and comfortable as circum- 
stances would permit. 

“ See Lulu? To be sure you shall, just as soon as 
you’ve eaten your breakfast. She is as bright and well 
as possible this morning, the darling. I was dreadfully 
worried about her last night, but the fright hasn’t hurt 
her a bit.” 

Mrs. Bell was her own bright self that morning; she 
seemed literally bubbling over with joy and thankful- 
ness. 


I AM CARED FOR 293 

“ I don’t know how I can ever thank God enough,” 
she said, simply. “ He has been so good to us all. 
When I think of what might have happened if it hadn’t 
been for you — oh, my dear, how can we ever thank 
you ? ” And the poor little woman broke dov/n again, 
and kissed and cried over me in a way that was truly 
delightful. 

She brought me some breakfast, and while I was 
eating it, gave me the information I wanted about the 
fire. It had been caused by a defective flue, and had 
probably been smouldering for hours before it was dis- 
covered by Katy, who had gone down to the kitchen in 
search of some toothache plasters she had left there. 
Poor Mrs. Henderson had been taken into the Sawyers’ 
next door, but although greatly shaken and distressed, 
she was not so badly off, after all, as the house and 
furniture were fully insured. 

“And where is Katy?” I inquired, with some 
curiosity. 

“ She left this morning by the early train. She did 
not even let us know that she was going, but slipped 
quietly away, leaving word with the expressman to call 
for her trunk. I suppose she realised that it was the 
only thing for her to do; we never could have kept her 
after what happened last night.” 

This news afforded me considerable satisfaction. I 
had no wish ever to meet the aristocratic Katy again, 
and I had learned enough, even before her cruel deser- 
tion of her charge, to convince me that she was not a fit 
person to have the care of a little child. 

I had just finished my breakfast, and was beginning 


294 SILVER LININGS 

to wonder whether it would not be best to confide in 
Mrs. Bell and tell her of the impending visit of my 
brother-in-law, when there came a patter of little feet, 
and a sweet baby voice called eagerly : 

“ Let me in, mamma, please let me in. I want to see 
Daisy.” 

Mrs. Bell laughed, and hurried to open the door for 
her little daughter, who came bounding into the room, 
remarking, as she settled herself comfortably beside me 
on the edge of the bed : 

“ You’re going to stay in my house all the time now, 
papa says so, ’cause Mrs. Henderson’s house is all 
burned up, and I’m going to give you Miss Mouser, 
my beautiful soft Angora kittty, what papa bought for 
me. I love her ’most best of everything I’ve got, but 
I’m going to give her to you, ’cause she’s so nice and 
soft to feel, and ’cause you took me out of the fire. 
Ellen says if you hadn’t. I’d have been all burned up, 
and papa and mamma wouldn’t have had any little girl 
at all.” 

“ Tell me all about it. Lulu. Tell me what happened 
after Mr. Sawyer brought you down on the ladder,” I 
said, eagerly, as Mrs. Bell left the room to attend to 
some household duties, and the child and I were left 
alone together. 

“ I can’t tell very much,” said Lulu, solemnly, 
“ ’cause I was so afraid I kept my arms tight round 
Katy’s neck all the time, and my eyes shut so I couldn’t 
see. Then papa and mamma came, and mamma held 
me so tight, and she cried, and so did Katy, and papa 
’most cried. He couldn’t quite cry, you know, ’cause 


I AM CARED FOR 295 

he’s a big gentleman, and big gentlemen never cry. We 
went into Mrs. Sawyer’s house, and you were lying on 
the sofa, your face was so white, and the bleeding was 
all running down your dress. I thought you was 
deaded, and I cried, but papa put something on your 
head, and then we came home in a carriage. You kept 
your eyes shut tight all the time, and Papa and Mr. Saw- 
yer carried you and put you in the carriage, and mamma 
holded your head in her lap. But you’ve got your eyes 
open all right now, and you’re going to get well right 
away, ’cause you know papa is such a lovely doctor he 
always makes everybody well.” 

“ Is your papa a doctor. Lulu? ” I asked. 

“ Yes, ’course he is. Ellen says he’s the best doctor 
in the whole world, ’cause he cured her little brother 
what couldn’t walk. He made me all well when I had 
scarlet fever, too, and I was very ill, mamma says.” 

I was silent, but my heart was beginning to beat 
uncomfortably fast. It was probably only a coinci- 
dence, I told myself, and yet Dr. Bell — could there be 
two Dr. Bells? And — yes, surely the Garland’s 
boarder had spoken of a wife and child. At that 
moment Mrs. Bell returned, and noticing that I looked 
flushed and feverish, she promptly sent Lulu out of 
the room. 

“ Mrs. Bell,” I said, as soon as the child had gone, 
‘‘if you are not very busy just now, there is something 
I should like to tell you.” 

Her only answer was to draw a chair close to the bed- 
side, and take one of my hot hands in hers. 

“ The other day,” I began — “ you remember the day 


SILVER LININGS 


296 

I came here with Mr. Henderson — I was going to tell 
you about myself. I was just beginning when that 
telegram came, and you had to go away in such a hurry. 
If you don’t mind, I should like to tell you my story 
now. I think I shall feel happier when you know all 
about it. You have been so good to me, I should hate 
to have you think I had deceived you in any way.” 

Mrs. Bell stooped and kissed me. 

“ My dear,” she said, very gently, “ you needn’t tell 
me; I know all about it.” 

“ You know all about it,” I gasped, beginning to 
tremble. “ Who told you? How did you find out? ” 
“ Daisy,” said Mrs. Bell, and her sweet voice was not 
quite steady, “ do you believe I would do anything to 
cause you pain if I could help it, especially after what 
you did for us last night? ” 

“ No, oh, no ! Not you, but ” 

“ Listen, dear, and I will explain everything; but you 
must not be so distressed; indeed, there is no need. Do 
you remember Dr. Bell, the Garlands’ boarder? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, I do. He was the man who was going 
to take me away. George Ripley, my brother-in-law, 
had given him permission. Mollie told me all about 
it. That was why I ran away.” 

“ Yes, dear, we know all that now, but you were mis- 
taken when you believed Dr. Bell to be your enemy; he 
was your friend all the time, and he wants to be your 
friend now, for, Daisy — don’t tremble so, my dear — 
he is my dear, good husband, the best husband a woman 
ever had.” 

And then, still holding my hand, and speaking in 


I AM CARED FOR 297 

her sweet, gentle voice, she told me a strange, wonderful 
story. I don’t think I fully understood it all at first, it 
seemed so marvellous, so incredible. It seemed that 
many years ago, when Dr. Bell was a boy, my father — 
my own father — had been very good to him. Just what 
he had done Mrs. Bell did not explain, but, whatever it 
was. Dr. Bell had never forgotten it, and had always 
hoped that a time might come when he should be able to 
repay it in some way. He had lived abroad for some 
years, but on his return to America had made inquiries 
about me, and learned that I was living happily in my 
Chicago home. He had known who I was on the day 
that he rescued me from the runaway horses, but very 
shortly after that had gone abroad with his family for 
the summer, and so had not heard of my great sorrow 
until some months later. As soon as he heard of my 
terrible loss, however, he went at once to Chicago, hop- 
ping that he might be of some assistance to me, but he 
found the Ripleys’ house shut up, and learned from the 
caretaker that the family had gone away for the winter. 
After some difficulty he succeeded in obtaining my ad- 
dress in Boston, but, on learning the nature of Dr. Gar- 
^ land’s establishment, he determined to make that gen- 
tleman’s acquaintance, and learn, if possible, in what 
condition I really was. How he had succeeded in this 
I already knew. He had written to George as soon as 
he found out where I was, telling him of the debt he 
felt he owed my father, and asked permission to 
assume the charge of me until my family’s return. 
George’s cable, giving the required permission, arrived 
on the very night of my flight. 


298 SILVER LININGS 

Every effort had been made to trace me, both by Dr. 
Bell and by the Garlands, but clue after clue had proved 
false. Mrs. West had succeeded in putting them com- 
pletely off the track. Still the search had continued, 
and the telegram Mrs. Bell received on the previous 
Saturday, had been a summons from her husband to 
meet him in Boston, in pursuance of a clue which they 
thought they had found. 

“ He thought it might be better for me to see you 
first,” Mrs. Bell explained. “You might not be as much 
afraid of talking to a woman, and I could explain things 
to you.” 

The clue, however, like so many others, had proved a 
false one, and the Bells had returned to New York on 
Monday evening, quite discouraged, and almost ready 
to give up in despair. They had gone to their city 
home, where they had intended spending the night, but 
had been met on the threshold by Thomas Sheehan, who 
had called in answer to the advertisement. 

“ The rest you can guess,” said Mrs. Bell, in con- 
clusion. “ You may imagine my astonishment when I 
discovered that the Margaret Sheehan to whom I had 
been talking only two days ago, and the Daisy Warren 
about whom we had been anxious for so many months, 
were one and the same person. We came up here by 
the evening train, and on the way we decided that I 
should go over to the Hendersons’ early this morning 
and explain matters to you. We had not sent word to 
the servants here, knowing the telegraph office would be 
closed so late in the evening, but we took a hack from 
the station, and had not gone far when we met some 


I AM CARED FOR 299 

people who told us that the Hendersons’ house was on 
fire. 

“ When we reached the place the very first person I 
saw was Katy, with my little Lulu in her arms. It did 
not take us many minutes to learn what had happened, 
and then — but I can’t talk about that now ; it was all so 
terrible, and yet we were so thankful.” 

“ But where are Rose and George?” I asked, anx- 
iously. “ Haven’t they tried to find me? ” 

“ They are still abroad. Mr. Ripley left everything 
in my husband’s hands, but, my dear child, you have 
nothing to fear, even if they should come home. You 
belong to Charlie and me now, and do not think that, 
after what you have done for us, we can ever let you 
go again? ” 

I had nothing to fear. The news seemed almost too 
wonderful to be believed. I felt as though a great 
weight had suddenly been lifted from my heart, and 
yet, mingled with the joy and relief, there was a sharp 
sensation of pain at the thought that Rose could so 
willingly have abandoned me. 

“ It is all very strange,” I said, “ and I don’t think I 
quite understand it yet. But I do understand one thing, 
and that is, that you and your husband have been very, 
very good to me. I am afraid Dr. Bell will never for- 
give me for causing him so much trouble. Why, do 
you know, I was hiding in Mrs. West’s loft all the time 
while Dr. Bell and Dr. Garland were inquiring for me 
downstairs.” 

Mrs. Bell laughed. 

“ You little goose ! ” she said. “ But I don’t think you 


SILVER LININGS 


300 

will find my husband a very unforgiving person, and 
here he is to speak for himself. Come here, Charlie, 
and convince this silly child that you are neither a fiend 
nor an ogre.” 

“ Miss Warren,” said a voice, which I at once recog- 
nised as that of the Garlands’ boarder, “ I don’t know 
what to say to you — I don’t know how to thank you, 

but Jessie, my wife ” He paused abruptly; he 

was evidently too much agitated to say more. 

I felt very uncomfortable and embarrassed, but I 
forced a smile, and held out my hand. 

“ Mrs. Bell has told me everything,” I said. “ Do 
you think you can ever forgive me for treating you so 
badly?” 

“ Forgive you, my child ! Only trust me,” he said, 
in a low, unsteady voice ; “ only believe that my one 
desire in life is to help you and to be your friend, for 
the sake of — of one who was once very dear to me.” 

And then, before I could utter a word, he suddenly 
dropped my hand, turned away, and walked quickly out 
of the room. 


XXIV 


MISS ADAMS TEACHES ME MY DUTY 

O, it was not a dream ; it was a waking reality. 



I was not homeless or friendless any more. I 


was not even in hiding, living in constant fear 


of being found and dragged back to the wretched life 
from which I had escaped. These good, kind people, 
out of their love and gratitude, had made me, a mere 
stranger, as one of themselves. Oh ! how happy I was — . 
happier than I ever expected to be again. The rest and 
peace of it all ! The sudden cessation of all fears and 
anxieties ! It was almost too much for me at first, and 
for a day or two I was quite content to lie still in a kind 
of dreamy rapture, and be petted and waited upon as I 
had never been, even in the days of my happy child- 


hood. 


How good they all were to me ! How could I ever 
for a moment have doubted Dr. Bell’s kindness? He 
was so gentle, so thoughtful for me in every way. He 
did not talk very much, and always seemed a little 
nervous or embarrassed when he spoke to me, but that 
he was my friend in the truest sense of the word, I never 
doubted for a moment. As for Mrs. Bell, or Jessie, as 
she insisted on my calling her, I think I almost wor- 
shipped her. And Lulu — was there ever such another 
darling as Lulu? 

The cut on my head soon healed, and in a few days I 


301 


302 SILVER LININGS 

was able to be up and about as usual. They still de- 
clared that I needed care, and so I was fed upon milk 
punches and other delicious compounds, and generally 
spoiled in a way that I am sure dear, sensible mother 
would have called foolish, but that was very delightful, 
notwithstanding. Jessie went to the city, ostensibly to 
engage a new maid to fill Katy’s place, and returned with 
such treasures in the way of hats, boots, and other neces- 
saries for me that my breath was fairly taken away. It 
seemed almost wrong to accept so much, but when I 
tried to thank her, she grew suddenly very grave, and 
begged me earnestly to say nothing on the subject to her 
husband, because Charlie hated to be thanked. 

Dr. Bell certainly was peculiar; I could not deny that 
fact, much as I liked him. He puzzled me sometimes, 
and made me vaguely uncomfortable. He was devoted 
to his wife and child, and sometimes for days together, 
would appear quite gay and light-hearted, romping 
with Lulu, and chatting pleasantly with Jessie and me. 
Then suddenly, without any apparent cause, he would 
become silent and taciturn, and all his wife’s efforts to 
cheer him would be in vain. He was very well off, hav- 
ing inherited a fortune, Jessie told me, from a rich old 
gentleman, who had adopted him. He was also well- 
known and respected as a physician. He went to the 
city several days each week, in order to see his patients, 
most of whom, I learned, were poor people, to whom 
he gave his services free of charge. He had plenty of 
rich patients as well, and was frequently called in con- 
sultation even by older men than himself. 

Dr. Bell had at once communicated to the Garlands 


MY DUTY 303 

the fact that I was found, and, in consequence, I had not 
been many days in my new home, when I had the satis- 
faction of receiving my trunk, which I had been forced 
to leave behind on the night of my hurried flight. This 
was a real relief to me, for I could not bear to think of 
accepting everything from the Bells, and I came to the 
conclusion that Miss Garland must have had some good 
in her, after all, for not only were all my clothes intact, 
but she had actually restored every one of the articles of 
jewelry she had appropriated. Among other treasures, 
I found the little box containing my most cherished pos- 
sessions: mother’s letters, the gold dollar father had 
given me for a good-luck penny, and the old, faded let- 
ter from my brother. Again I held each of these pre- 
cious objects in my hand, and then laid them carefully 
away once more, thinking that, sometime when I had 
grown to know her better, I would show Jessie my 
treasures, and tell her the story of that old faded letter. 
It was a great pleasure to regain possession of all my 
belongings, and, when a day or two later, a large box 
arrived by express, containing — yes, really containing 
my dear old typewriter, and my precious books, I was 
almost too happy for words. 

So the beautiful, happy summer days slipped away, 
and I lived on in blissful enjoyment of the present and 
indifference to the future. Only one thing troubled me, 
and that was that, although I had been in my new home 
for more than three weeks, not a word had come from 
Rose. It was natural, I thought, that she should have 
been vexed with me for leaving the Garlands, and 
causing everyone so much trouble, for, of course, she 


304 SILVER LININGS 

would believe George’s version of the story, but that 
she should have so utterly cast me off seemed almost in- 
credible. More than once, while alone in my room at 
night, I shed bitter tears at the thought of my sister’s 
strange coldness, but then I was so happy, I was learn- 
ing to love these new friends so dearly, it seemed almost 
wicked to fret about anything when I had so much for 
which to be grateful. 

The Bells had many friends, and, as my story became 
known among them, I began to find myself an object of 
considerable interest. At first I was uncomfortable, and 
begged to be allowed to remain quietly upstairs when 
visitors came, but Jessie only laughed at me, and de- 
clared she was not going to allow me to become a hermit, 
and, after all, it was very pleasant to be talked to once 
more as if I were a young lady, and not an inmate of 
the Home for Destitute Blind. Some of the people I 
really liked, especially Miss Gray, the sweet invalid 
lady who spent her life chained to a sofa, but who was, 
nevertheless, one of the brightest, most cheerful souls 
it has ever been my good fortune to meet. Miss Gray 
was a near neighbour, and a great friend of the Bells. 
Jessie took me to see her as soon as I was able to go out, 
and we became great friends. She would send for me 
of an afternoon, and keep me with her for hours, read- 
ing aloud to me, or leading me on to talk to her of, the 
things in which I was most interested. She even prom- 
ised her help and advice should I ever carry out my 
plan of writing a story, and we discussed plots and 
sketched scenes in a manner that was very delightful to 
me. 


MY DUTY 305 

As for relations, the Bells did not appear to possess 
any, at least none were ever mentioned. Mrs. Bell, I 
knew, was English, and was an orphan at the time of her 
marriage. Dr. Bell had met her and married her in 
England, but was himself an American. He never 
spoke of his early life, nor did Jessie, except on that one 
occasion when she had told me of the debt her husband 
owed my father. I was very curious to know what that 
debt could possibly have been, but I forebore from ask- 
ing questions, feeling vaguely that it was a subject on 
which neither my host nor hostess liked to talk. There 
was a mystery of some kind, I felt sure, and, after think- 
ing it over, I came to the conclusion that Dr. Bell — 
who was not much over thirty — must have been a poor 
boy, whom my father had for some reason befriended, 
and that now, in his altered circumstances, he did not 
care to recur to that period of his life. But, of one thing 
I felt sure, whatever his antecedents might have been, 
he was a gentleman — as true a gentleman as ever lived. 

I was alone in my room one afternoon, about three 
weeks after my arrival at the Bells’, deeply absorbed in 
writing out the rough draft of a story I had promised 
to show Miss Gray. All the family were out. Dr. Bell 
being in the city, and Jessie having taken Lulu to a 
child’s party in the neighbourhood. I had just reached 
a critical situation, and was leaning back in my chair, 
eagerly planning out the next scene, when there was a 
tap at my door, and Ellen, the waitress, presented 
herself. 

“ A lady to see you, miss.” 

“ A lady to see me! ” I repeated in surprise, not too 


3o6 silver linings 

well pleased at being disturbed just them. “ Who is it, 

Ellen?’’ 

“ I never saw her before, miss; she is a very haughty- 
looking person, but she asked for you — that is, she asked 
for the young per — young lady, I mean — who came 
from Mr. Henderson’s, and she told me to tell you Miss 
Adams had come to see you.” 

I arose at once, feeling half dismayed, half amused. 
It was very kind of Miss Adams to come and congratu- 
late me on my good fortune, and yet I wished Jessie had 
not been out, that I were not obliged to meet my bene- 
factress — for such she evidently considered herself — 
alone. 

“ I’ll go right down,” I said, and hurried away down- 
stairs, my heart fluttering a little more than was alto- 
gether pleasant. 

Outside the parlour door I paused for a moment, 
feeling suddenly shy. For the first time the thought 
struck me that to explain my position might be a little 
difficult. 

“ Come in, Margaret,” said a well-known voice, 
“ there is nothing to be afraid of.” 

“ I am not afraid,” I said, hurrying forward, and 
laughing rather nervously as I spoke. “ I am very glad 
to see you. Miss Adams. I am sorry Mrs. Bell is out.” 

“ I am sorry, too, as I should have liked to thank her 
for her kindness to you, but I have only a few moments 
to spare. A friend is waiting for me outside in her car- 
riage. Now sit down ; I want to have a little talk with 
you.” 

I promptly dropped into the nearest chair. 


MY DUTY 307 

“ I only came up here this morning,” Miss Adams 
went on, in her decided, business-like manner, “ and I 
have just been to see the Hendersons, and heard from 
them the full particulars of the fire. I had read a short 
account of the affair in the papers, but I was at the sea- 
side at the time with my mother, and I supposed that 
you had been sent back to the Home long ago. It was 
only yesterday, when I called there, that I learned from 
Mrs. Hills that you were still away. Mrs. Henderson 
tells me that you behaved very well on the night of the 
fire, and I am much pleased with you.” 

There was something about Miss Adams’ calm pa- 
tronage that gave me an almost uncontrollable desire to 
laugh, but I was horribly uncomfortable as well. 

“ I wrote Mrs. Hills about the fire,” I said, merely 
for the sake of saying something, as Miss Adams paused, 
evidently expecting a remark of some kind. “ I told 
her how kind Dr. and Mrs. Bell had been to me, and 
how happy I was here.” 

“Yes, I know. Mrs. Hills showed me your letter. 
These people have certainly been very kind to you, but 
it is only natural that they should have a feeling of grati- 
tude under the circumstances, and you must not impose 
too much on their good-nature. You are looking much 
better than when I saw you in town; the change has 
done you good.” 

“ I am feeling like a different person,” I said, 
heartily. 

“ That is well ; I thought a few weeks in the country 
would be all that was necessary. Where did you get 
that dress? ” 


3o8 silverlinings 

‘‘ Mrs. Bell gave it to me,” I said, blushing. 

“Very pretty, but decidedly unsuitable in your posi- 
tion. I suppose all your clothes were burned.” 

“ Everything but what I had on, but I have plenty of 
clothes now, and — and. Miss Adams, there is something 
that I think I ought to explain.” 

“ Never mind about any explanations now; I really 
have not time to listen. I am spending the night up here 
with a friend, but I am returning to town to-morrow 
morning, and I want you to be ready to go with me.” 

“ To go with you,” I repeated, blankly. “ To go 
where? ” 

“ Why, back to the Home, of course. Don’t you 
think you have trespassed long enough on the kindness 
of these people? You surely did not expect to spend 
the rest of the summer here. Have your things ready, 
and I will call for you between nine and ten to-morrow 
morning. I have arranged with Mrs. Hills to meet you 
at the station in New York.” 

My cheeks were burning, and my heart beating very 
fast, but I felt that I must explain matters, whether Miss 
Adams wished to listen or not. 

“ I don’t think you understand,” I faltered. “ I 
thought I explained in Mrs. Hills’ letter that the Bells 
did not wish me to go back to the Home. They want 
me to stay with them for a time, at least, until my sister 
comes home.” 

“ Now, Margaret, this is very absurd,” said Miss 
Adams, in the tone one might use towards an unreason- 
ing child. “ I did read some such high-flown nonsense 
in your letter, but I simply refused to pay any attention 


MY DUTY 309 

to it. I dare say these Bells have talked a great deal of 
nonsense ; young people are apt to go off their heads at 
times, but when you have lived in the world as many 
years as I have, you will know that people never mean 
half they say.” 

I gave a violent start, and I think some of the colour 
must have gone out of my face. 

‘‘ Of course they are grateful. I understand that 
perfectly well,” Miss Adams went on in her cold, pitiless 
voice ; “ it is quite proper that they should have provided 
for you at first, and even supplied you with clothes, al- 
though I cannot say that I consider Mrs. Bell very judi- 
cious in her selection, but you surely did not expect to 
make your home with them, as you have been doing for 
the past few weeks.” 

While Miss Adams was speaking, my heart had been 
sinking down, down, like lead. It was aching, too — 
oh! how it was aching — but I made one more feeble 
effort to justify my position. 

“ It wasn’t only the fire,” I said, speaking fast and 
nervously. “ Dr. Bell knew my father long ago. He 
was kind to Dr. Bell when he was a boy, and — 
and ” 

“ Dr. Bell is a gentleman,” said Miss Adams, icily. 
“ I do not think that he would care to hear you speak 
of his having received kindness from your father. 
Come, come, Margaret, you are surely not destitute of 
some feeling of proper self-respect. Do you wish to 
remain here, being supported by strangers, out of a 
sense of gratitude, until they tire of the burden, and pack 
you off of their own accord? They will tire of it in 


310 SILVER LININGS 

three months, I can tell you. I know young people; I 
know their foolish, impulsive ways. At the end of three 
months your place at the Home will undoubtedly have 
been filled, and then, will you kindly tell me, what is to 
become of you? ” 

Her words cut like a knife. My pride — had I in- 
deed, forgotten my pride ? I sprang to my feet, stung 
almost beyond the power of endurance. 

“ What am I to do? ” I cried, miserably. “ Tell me 
what I ought to do.” 

“ Sit down, Margaret, and don’t act like a fool. 
There is nothing to get excited about. All you have to 
do is to tell Mrs. Bell that you have decided to return 
to the Home. She will be glad when you are gone, you 
may depend upon that, even though she may try to urge 
you to stay longer, out of a foolish notion that she is 
paying you for saving her child. It was a very creditable 
thing of you to do, I confess, but if you had not saved 
the child someone else would. There are always 
plenty of people about at such times. Now, I really 
cannot stay any longer, but I shall expect you to be 
ready when I call for you to-morrow morning. Your 
Aunt Mary will be glad to see you again, I am sure, and 
by the time you have been back at the Home for a week 
you will have forgotten all about this foolish business.” 

Miss Adams was gone. I had heard her final words; 
I had heard the sound of carriage-wheels dying away 
in the distance, and I stood quite still in the spot 
where she had left me, bereft of the very power to 
move. I had been so happy, so happy, and now it was 
all over forever; it had been only a dream, after all. 


MY DUTY 311 

“ Miss Warren, what is it? For Heaven’s sake, tell 
me what has happened.” 

The terrible tension of my nerves gave way, and with 
a cry I sank trembling into a chair. I had not noticed 
approaching footsteps; I had noticed nothing in those 
few awul moments of my humiliation and despair, and 
now Dr. Bell was standing beside me, holding my cold 
hands in his. 

“What is it, my child?” he persisted, anx- 
iously. “Your hands are like ice. Are you ill? 
Are you in pain? Tell me quickly, what has hap- 
pened.” 

“ No, I am not ill,” I said, speaking in a strange, low 
voice, that somehow sounded oddly in my own ears. 
“ There is nothing the matter, only — only — Dr. Bell, I 
want to go back to the Home.” 

He dropped my hand, and there was a moment of 
dead silence. Then he said, slowly, in a tone that I did 
not understand : 

“ Has Jessie told you ? Is that why you do not want 
to stay with us? ” 

“Told me?” I repeated, in a voice sharp with 
anguish. “ Oh, no, no! she hasn’t told me; she is too 
kind to do that, but I know, I understand. It was very 
wrong of me not to have understood before; mother 
would be so ashamed of me, but — but I had been so 
miserable, and you have made me so happy.” I cov- 
ered my burning face with my hands, and burst into a 
passion of tears. 

“ My dear child,” Dr. Bell had drawn my hands 
down from my face, and was speaking in his usual kind 


312 SILVER LININGS 

voice now, “ I don’t know what all this is about, but 

there is some hideous mistake somewhere. You say 

you want to leave us, and yet you tell me we have made 
you happy. What nonsense have you gotten into 
your head? Why are you making yourself so 

miserable ? ” 

“ Because, because — oh, can’t you see, can’t you un- 
derstand ? I have no right to ‘stay here ; I have no claim 
upon you. My own people have cast me off. I don’t 
belong to anyone in the whole world.” 

“ My dear child,” said Dr. Bell, firmly; but, oh, so 
kindly, “ you don’t know what you are talking about. 
No claim upon us ; you, who saved our little child from a 
horrible death, and risked your own life to do it. No 
claim upon us ! And, even if that had never happened, 
there are other reasons. Believe me, my child, when I 
tell you that you have a claim upon me, the very strong- 
est claim that can exist.” 

“ Oh, I know what you mean ! ” I broke in, impa- 
tiently. “ My father was kind to you long ago, and you 
think you owe him a debt of gratitude. My father was 
doubtless kind to other people as well, but they don’t 
feel called upon to take me into their homes, and treat 
me like one of their own families. And, as for what I 
did for Lulu, anyone would have done it. Suppose Mr. 
Sawyer had saved her; you would have had just as 
much cause to be grateful to him as you are to me, and 
yet it would have been very different. Oh, I see it all so 
plainly now. I couldn’t stay, not even if you and Mrs. 
Bell begged me to, and it almost killed me to hurt your 
feelings. My mother was very proud; I can’t accept 


MY DUTY 


313 

everything from people upon whom I have no real 
claim, not even from the dearest, kindest people in the 
whole world. Think for one minute. Dr. Bell. If you 
had a sister like me, would you like to think she was 
doing what I have done for the past three weeks? If 
my own relations refuse to support me, I cannot let 
strangers do so.” 

I had spoken rapidly, almost incoherently; the words 
seemed to rush unbidden from my lips. But now I 
paused, half frightened by my own vehemence. Dr. 
Bell had turned away, and was pacing rapidly up and 
down the floor. For a moment there was silence ; then 
he came quickly to my side, and laid his hand kindly on 
my shoulder. 

“ Daisy,” he said, unsteadily — it was the first time 
he had voluntarily called me by my Christian name — 
“ I think I begin to understand. Your feeling is right, 
and I should be proud of it in any sister of mine. I 
cannot let you go back to the Home, that would be im- 
possible, but I will promise you this. If to-morrow 
morning you still feel that you do not care to stay with 
us, you shall not be forced to do so; you shall be free 
to go where you choose. I will not promise to cease to 
provide for you, that I cannot do, but I will not trouble 
you any more than I can help.” 

He paused, either unwilling or unable to say more, 
and, without another word, I turned and left the 
room. 

I had gained what I wanted; I was free to do as I 
pleased. Dr. Bell saw I was right. Miss Adams knew 
best; it was all true, just as she had said. I gained my 


SILVER LININGS 


3H 

own room, closed the door, and flung myself face-down- 
ward on the bed. 

“ Oh, it is cruel, cruel ! ” I moaned, in agony almost 
too great to be borne, “ to be so kind, so good; to make 
me love them so, and then to let me go. Oh I I can’t 
bear it, I can’t bear it! Oh, mother, mother! ” 


XXV 

JESSIE TELLS A STORY 


D aisy, my poor darling, my poor, poor lit- 
tle girl!” 

I started up with a cry and flung my arms 
about Jessie’s neck. 

“ Jessie,” I sobbed, hysterically, “ Jessie, forgive me. 
I didn’t mean to be a burden ; I never realised what I was 
doing. Oh, I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it! ” 

Jessie sat down on the side of the bed, holding me 
close in her kind arms. 

“ My dear,” she said, tenderly, “ you must try and 
explain what all this means. I haven’t the least idea 
what you are talking about. Charlie says he came home 
by the early train, and found you standing in the parlour, 
looking so white that he was fairly frightened, and 
thought you must be ill. You told him something about 
not being happy with us, and wanting to go away. 
Ellen tells me that a lady called to see you while I was 
out.” 


“ It was Miss Adams,” I said, controlling my voice 
with an effort, and speaking fast and nervously. “ You 
remember I told you about her, the lady who had me 
admitted into the Home, and who sent me to the Hen- 
dersons. She heard I was here, and came to tell me she 
would take me back to the Home tomorrow. She 
showed me how dreadfully wrong I had been in letting 
315 


3i6 silver linings 

you do everything for me, and staying on here, just as 

if I were a relation instead of a mere stranger. I never 

realised it before, but I do now, and I am so horribly 

ashamed.” 

“ Daisy,” said Jessie, with conviction, “ you are a 
little goose. I really gave you credit for having more 
good sense than to be influenced by the foolish talk of a 
meddling, interfering person like that Adams woman. 
You are acting very foolishly, and making yourself and 
everyone else miserable all for nothing. Now I want 
you to stop all this nonsense, like a good, sensible girl, 
and come downstairs with me. Lulu is having her 
supper, and you know I must tell her a story as usual 
before she goes to bed.” 

I rose obediently. To tell the truth, I was beginning 
to be a little ashamed of my outbreak. Jessie was very 
kind. She bathed my eyes and smoothed my hair, and 
then kissed me, and, drawing my arm through hers, led 
me downstairs to the cool, pleasant sitting-room, where 
Lulu was waiting for her evening story. 

“ Tell about the little girl no bigger than my thumb, 
mamma,” said Lulu, as her mother, after settling me 
comfortably in the low rocker by the open window, 
lifted the child on to her lap. 

“No,” said Jessie, decidedly; “not tonight. We 
are going to have a new story tonight; a true story, 
about something that really happened.” 

“ That’s nice,” said Lulu, contentedly, “ I like 
stories, and you’ll listen too, won’t you. Miss 
Daisy?” 

“ Yes, Lulu, dear, I will listen.” 


JESSIE TELLS A STORY 317 

Through the open windows came the perfume of 
honeysuckle and clematis, and the birds were singing 
their good-night song. Miss Mouser, Lulu’s kitten, 
jumped into my lap, and settled herself comfortably for 
a nap. Lulu nestled in her mother’s arms, and after 
waiting a moment as if to collect her thoughts, Jessie 
began her story. 

“ Once upon a time there was a boy.” 

“ What was his name? ” inquired Lulu, who had a 
fondness for detail. 

“His name? Let me see. Well, suppose we call 
him Charlie.” 

“ That’ s nice, just like papa. Now go on, mamma, 
please.” 

“ He was a very nice boy, and lived in a beautiful, 
happy home with his father and his little sister. His 
mother had died when his sister was a tiny baby, and 
just before God took her away to heaven, she called 
Charlie to her, and, putting his baby sister into his 
arms, made him promise that he would always be good 
to her, always take care of her, and try to make her 
happy. Charlie promised, and you may be sure that he 
meant to keep his word, for he loved his mother very 
dearly and it almost broke his heart to think that she 
was going to leave him. 

“ For a time all went well, and they were very happy. 
As soon as the baby could walk she would follow Charlie 
about like a shadow, and the very first word she learned 
to say was ‘ Tarlie.’ Charlie was devoted to her, and 
seldom found her in the way, though he was a big boy 
of nearly fourteen, and she was only a tiny girl of two. 


3i8 silver linings 

But one day a very terrible thing happened. It was in 
the summer, and Charlie’s father had taken the children 
to a beautiful place in the country, not far from the sea. 
Well, on this particular afternoon Charlie had decided 
to go duck-shooting, as his father had only a short time 
before given him a gun. Charlie was very proud of 
that gun, and very fond of using it, but his father had 
made him promise that he would never fire it near the 
house, or when his little sister or her nurse were any- 
where near. Charlie gave the promise very readily, 
and he meant to keep it just as truly as he meant to keep 
the promise he had made to his mother; but you see he 
was only a careless boy, and he forgot. 

“ Just before starting on his expedition, Charlie went 
into the nursery for a moment, and there he found 
poor old nurse suffering from a bad headache. She 
begged him to take the baby out so that she might lie 
down for a little while. At first Charlie felt inclined to 
refuse, but he was a kind-hearted boy, and very fond 
of his old nurse, and when baby looked up into his face 
with her big, pleading blue eyes, and said ‘Pease, Tarlie, 
pease do take baby out,’ why, he simply couldn’t stand 
it. Five minutes later Charlie was trudging off down 
the road, with his gun over his shoulder, and his baby 
sister trotting by his side.” 

“ Did he really shoot the gun, mamma? ” demanded 
Lulu, in a tone of breathless interest. 

“ He did not intend to fire it; he only carried it for 
fun, but even then he knew he was doing wrong, and 
breaking his promise to his father. They went down to 
the pond, and Charlie laid his gun down on the grass, 


JESSIE TELLS A STORY 319 

and set about the task of amusing his little sister. 
Baby was having a delightful time, and all was going 
well, when suddenly Charlie saw something which for 
the moment made him forget everything else in the 
world; it was a beautiful white duck, flying right over 
the pond. He never thought of the baby; never 
thought of his promise. To snatch his gun from the 
grass, aim and fire, was the work of but a moment, but 
it was the most terrible moment of that poor boy’s life. 
The duck flew calmly away unhurt, but on the grass at 
poor Charlie’s feet lay something very white and still; 
it was his baby sister.” 

“Was she all dead, mamma?” inquired Lulu in an 
awe-struck whisper. 

“ No, darling, she was not dead, but very badly hurt. 
For the first moment Charlie was too frightened and 
too horrified at what he had done, even to move. Then 
he knelt down in the grass beside the little motionless 
form, and prayed that he might die too, for you see, he 
thought he had killed his baby sister. But at last the 
baby moved a little and moaned faintly, and then Charlie 
knew that she was alive. He snatched her up in his 
arms, and ran as fast as he could with her to the house, 
where he laid her in her little crib. And then he crept 
away and hid himself in the barn, feeling as if his heart 
would break. 

“ Things were very sad after that for a long time. 
The baby was very, very ill, and for some days everyone 
thought that she would die. But at last they told 
Charlie that his little sister would get well, although a 
terrible thing had happened to her, for the shot from 


320 SILVER LININGS 

the gun had put out both her pretty eyes, and she would 

never see again.” 

“ Just like Miss Daisy. Oh, mamma, this is a lovely 
story. Was Charlie very sorry? ” 

“ He was so sorry and so unhappy that he did a very 
foolish thing. His father had been very angry with 
him at first, and he was afraid that when his little 
sister grew older and understood what he had done, she 
would never forgive him, and might even grow to dis- 
like him. So he decided to run away.” 

“ But she wouldn’t really, would she, mamma? You 
would have forgiven him if he had been your brother, 
wouldn’t you. Miss Daisy? ” 

“ Yes, Lulu,” I said, not without some indignation in 
my tone, for what right had anyone, even Jessie, to rake 
up that old story for the amusement of the child? She 
had heard it, I had no doubt, from her husband, who 
had known my father long ago. “ I should have for- 
given him, and I think I should have loved him all the 
better for having been so unhappy.” 

“ That’s right,” said Lulu, approvingly, “ so should 
I. Why, mamma, you’re crying; I see the cry in your 
eyes.” 

“ Crying, nonsense ! Why, what should I cry about? 
Now listen, I want to go on with my story. In the 
books Charlie had read the boys who ran away always 
went to sea, so he determined to go to sea too. He 
went to the city, and, after wandering about the docks 
for a day or two, managed to procure a position as 
cabin boy on board a steamer going to England. He 
had never been at sea before, and soon found that he 


JESSIE TELLS A STORV 32I 

did not like his new position at all. The work was both 
hard and disagreeable, and, worst of all, he was at first 
a very poor sailor. He was very miserable and un- 
happy, and as he lay tossing on his hard bed at night he 
thought a great deal about his father and little sis- 
ter, and began almost to wish that he had not run 
away. 

“ One night, when Charlie had been at sea for 
several days, he was awakened by a great noise and con- 
fusion on the deck over his head. The steamer was on 
fire, and although the crew were very brave, and many 
of the passengers worked hard to put out the fire, it 
was all of no use, and in a short time the captain 
ordered that all the women and children should be 
placed in the lifeboats. Charlie had worked hard with 
the rest, and when the boats were ready, he helped to 
lift some of the poor frightened little children into them. 
I think if Charlie’s father could have seen him then, he 
would have been proud of his boy, for he was very 
brave. 

“ When the boats were all gone the men who were 
left turned and looked at each other. They knew there 
was just one chance for them, and they all, with one 
accord, jumped into the sea. The water was very cold, 
and for the first moment poor Charlie almost lost con- 
sciousness, although he was provided with a life-pre- 
server. But in a few minutes he grew accustomed to 
his strange surroundings and then suddenly he felt a 
strong hand grip his arm, and he was drawn up on to 
a kind of raft, which some of the men had made from a 
piece of the ship which had not taken fire.” 


322 SILVER LININGS 

“ That was nice. Oh, mamma, do tell it quick! It’s 
so interesting. Was it a kind person who pulled Charlie 
on to the raft? ” 

“ Yes, it was an old gentleman, one of the cabin 
passengers, who had several times during the voyage 
spoken kindly to the poor boy. He spoke kindly to him 
again now, and just as cherfully as if they had been safe 
on board the ship instead of floating about on the open 
sea. 

“ ‘ Don’t give up, my boy,’ ” he said, ‘ we have a 
chance yet. The sea is as calm as a mill pond, and we 
may be picked up. I’ve seen what you’ve done, and 
you’re as brave a boy as ever lived. If you have a 
father, he’ll be proud of you some day.’ 

“ For two whole days Charlie and the old gentleman 
floated about on that frail raft, seeing nothing but 
water and sky, with nothing to eat or drink, and very 
little hope of ever reaching land again. You may be 
sure Charlie thought of his father and his baby sister 
then. He wondered what his father would say when he 
heard what had happened, and he thought that perhaps 
when his little sister was old enough to be told how he 
had died, she might not hate him, after all; she might 
even be a little sorry for him. The old gentleman was 
very brave, and never once gave up hope. He told 
Charlie that his home was in England, and that, al- 
though he was rich, he was very lonely, for his wife and 
all his children were dead. The two grew very fond of 
each other during those terrible days, and at last, just as 
they were beginning to realise that they could not hold 
out much longer, they saw a ship.” 


JESSIE TELLS A STORY 323 

“And were they saved, mamma?” cried Lulu, 
eagerly. 

“ Yes, my darling, they were saved. The people on 
the ship saw their signals of distress, and they were 
taken on board. It was a sailing vessel, and bound for 
a distant port, so that it was a long time before they were 
able to let their friends know of their safety. In the 
meantime the old gentleman had been very ill, and 
Charlie had nursed him as faithfully and tenderly as if 
he had been his own father. 

“ At first Charlie did not tell his new friend his real 
name, or the circumstances of his leaving home, but at 
last, when they had gone back to England, and the old 
gentleman had taken him to his home, and wished to 
adopt him and keep him with him always, then Charlie 
felt that he could not keep silence any longer, and told 
the whole sad story. The old gentleman was grieved, 
for he had grown to love the boy dearly, but he insisted 
on Charlie’s writing at once to his father, and he also 
wrote himself, telling how brave the lad had been at the 
time of the shipwreck. They waited a long time, but 
no answer came, and at last the two letters were re- 
turned unopened. Then Charlie was very anxious, and 
the old gentleman wrote to a friend in America, asking 
him to try and find out what had become of the boy’s 
family. When the answer came, it brought very sad 
news. Charlie’s father had died suddenly nearly six 
months before, his old home was sold, and his little 
sister had been adopted by friends living far away. 

“ The letter also said that, only a short time before 
Charlie’s father died, there had been some business 


324 SILVER LININGS 

trouble and he had lost all his money. Poor Charlie 
was almost heart-broken. His friend would have had 
him write to the people who had adopted his little sister, 
but that he refused to do. He still felt that he had 
injured his baby sister past forgiveness, and did not 
want to be a burden to the aunt and uncle who had 
adopted her. The old gentleman was very glad to be 
able to keep Charlie with him, and sent him first to 
school and afterwards to college, and finally legally 
adopted him and gave him his name. Now here comes 
Maggie, and it’s time all good little girls were in bed, 
so kiss mamma good-night, and run off as quickly as 
you can.” 

“ But that isn’t all the story,” protested Lulu. “ You 
never told what the little sister did.” 

“We shall have to keep that part for tomorrow 
evening, for it’s getting late now, so run away with 
Maggie like a good girl, as mamma tells you.” 

“ Jessie,” I said, breaking a short pause when the 
child had left us, “ why did you end the story like 
that? It was cruel of you, knowing what the end really 
was.” 

“ Because, dear,” she answered, gently, laying her 
hand on mine, “ it was a true story, and there was only 
one way of ending it — the true one.” 

“ But it can’t be true,” I faltered, beginning to 
tremble. “ Such things never happen in real life. It 
is only in story books that people come back from the 
dead. Oh, Jessie ! you know it can’t be true.” 

“ I know, my darling, that God sometimes lets very 
wonderful things happen even in this prosaic old world. 


JESSIE TELLS A STORY 325 

The story is true, Daisy, word for word as I have 
told it.” 

“ And my brother was not drowned, after all — he 
has been alive all these years? ” 

“ Yes, dear, all these years.” 

“ And you know him? You have seen him — talked 
to him?” 

“ The old gentleman who adopted him was a near 
neighbour of ours, and a great friend of my father’s. 
Your brother and I have been true friends ever since he 
was fifteen and I only eleven.” 

“ But why has he stayed away all this time? Why 
has he never come to see me? He must have known 
how glad I should have been.” 

“ But he did not know, Daisy,” she said, sadly. “ He 
believed that you could never forgive the wrong he did 
you. He thought you would hate him — shrink from 
him with horror if you learned the truth.” 

“ Oh, no, no, Jessie ! He couldn’t have believed 
that; it is too dreadful. He must have known that I 
would have forgiven him, oh, so gladly 1 and loved him 
with my whole heart. Why, it was only an accident; it 
might have happened to anyone. I never even heard the 
story until last autumn, when Rose read me a letter he 
had written to mother just after it happened. It 
almost broke my heart to know that he was dead, and 
could never hear how fully and freely I forgave him. 
Oh, poor, poor boy ! and all these years he has believed 

that I Oh, Jessie what is it ? Why do you cry so ? 

Jessie, Jessie, what does it mean? ” 

“ It means that I’m the happiest woman in the 


3^6 SILVER LININGS 

world,” sobbed Jessie, between crying and laughing, and 
covering my face and hands with kisses. “ It means 
that you are the dearest, sweetest, best ” 

“ And where is ” My quivering lips refused to 

pronounce the name. 

“ Oh, my dear ! can’t you guess — haven’t you 
guessed? ” 

My head seemed to spin round and round ; there was 
a strange, singing noise in my ears, but through all the 
confusion of heart and brain I heard distinctly the low, 
agitated voice at my side, saying eagerly — tremulously : 

“ Daisy, my own dear little sister, can you ever for- 
give me? ” 


XXVI 

MISS ADAMS IS SURPRISED 

Y es, it was true, quite true, although it took me 
some time to fully grasp the wonderful, beauti- 
ful fact. Dr. Bell — Dr. Bell, whom I had at 
first regarded as my cruel persecutor, and later as my 
kind, generous friend, was in reality my own brother — 
the brother over whose mysterious fate I had often pon- 
dered as a happy child, and for whose love and care I 
had longed so earnestly in later days. I was no longer 
alone in the world, and not only had found a brother, 
but a sister as well, and a precious little niece. Was it 
any wonder that my heart overflowed with joy and grati- 
tude, and that for a long time I could do nothing but 
weep tearis of pure joy, and murmur broken words of 
thankfulness? 

We did not separate till late that night, and then I 
lay awake for hours, too happy to sleep, longing for the 
morning that I might prove beyond a doubt the truth of 
this beautiful, wonderful thing. There were so many 
questions to be asked and answered; so much to be ex- 
plained on both sides. 

Charlie and I were sitting on the piazza together, the 
next morning just after breakfast, still talking over the 
many strange things that had happened in both our lives. 
Jessie had gone into the house to attend to household 
327 


328 SILVER LININGS 

duties, and Lulu was playing on the lawn, with Miss 

Mouser and a small fox terrier for companions. 

“ And to think,” I said, with a little happy laugh, 
“ that you knew me that day so long ago, when Sophie 
ran across the street to speak to Prosperre, and the run- 
away horses frightened me. I remember Sophie said 
you reminded her of someone, and I was horribly afraid 
you might turn out to be a friend of the family, who 
would think it your duty to inform father and mother 
of what had happened. I had no right to let Sophie go, 
but she was so distressed, poor thing, and she seemed to 
think Prosperre would certainly do something rash if 
she didn’t interfere.” 

“ I knew you long before that,” said Charlie. 
“ When Jessie and I came to America four years ago, 
one of the first things I did was to take a trip to Chicago 
for the purpose of looking you up. The first time I saw 
you, you and Aunt Margaret were coming out of the 
house, I remember. I was standing on the sidewalk, 
and you passed close to me. You were both looking 
very happy; Aunt Margaret was laughing at something 
you had been telling her. You were not more than four- 
teen then, and I remember that you wore a blue dress, 
and your hair hung down your back in two pigtails. I 
made several excursions to Chicago after that. The 
last time I had almost made up my mind to call and 
make myself known. On that evening after I met you 
on the street, and spoken to you for the first time, I 
walked up and down the street before your house for 
fully half an hour, trying to screw up my courage to the 
point of going up the steps and ringing the bell. But 


MISS ADAMS IS SURPRISED 329 
I had been dead to you all for so many years it seemed 
foolish to revive painful memories, and there seemed 
nothing I could do for you. I did long to see dear Aunt 
Margaret again, though, and I am inclined to think I 
should have yielded to the temptation at last had I not 
seen some visitors going into the house. I knew that was 
the end of my chance for that time, as I was obliged 
to leave Chicago early the next morning. Jessie and I 
went back to England for a visit very soon after that, 
and when I next heard of you everything had changed. 
After that I had but one thought: to find you as soon 
as possible.” 

“ I wish you had come in that night,” I said, regret- 
fully. “ Mother would have been so glad.” 

“ I wish to Heaven I had. Oh, Daisy ! my poor little 
girl, when I think of what I might have saved you if I 
had not been such a coward, I feel as if I could never 
forgive myself. If you can ever forgive me, it must be 
because you are an angel. You can never know what the 
past three weeks have been to me; how I have longed 
and yet dreaded to have you learn the truth. Jessie 
wanted to tell you at once, but I had a feeling that you 
might not mind quite so much if you had learned to care 
a little for us first. Halloa! here comes Lulu. Well, 
little woman, what’s the matter? ” 

“ It’s a carriage, papa,” announced Lulu, appearing, 
hot and breathless, after her romp with her pets. 
“ There’s a lady in it, and it’s stopping at the front 
door.” 

“ It’s Miss Adams,” I gasped, sinking back in my 
chair, and clasping my hands in dismay. “ I had for- 


330 SILVER LININGS 

gotten all about her, but she said she was coming this 
morning. She is on her way to the city, and she wants 
to take me back to the Home.” 

Charlie laughed. 

“Well, I suppose you are ready to go?” he said, 
teasingly. “Shall I have your trunk brought down? 
There, there, little girl ! ” he added, in a different tone, 
“ don’t look so distressed. There is surely nothing to 
be troubled about. We can explain matters to this 
Miss Adams.” 

“But you don’t know her,” I said, half laughing; 
“ she is a very decided person. If you leave me alone 
with her, I am half afraid she may carry me off some- 
how against my will.” 

“ We won’t give her the chance to try, then. Come 
along, and we’ll tackle her together.” 

He drew my hand through his arm as he spoke, and 
led me briskly around the piazza to the front of the 
house. I would scarcely have recognised Dr. Bell that 
morning. Jessie informed me privately that he looked 
ten years younger. 

We found Miss Adams standing on the door mat, 
waiting for an answer to her ring at the door-bell. 
Charlie walked straight up to her, and held out his 
hand. 

“ Miss Adams, I believe,” he said, pleasantly. 

“Yes. Have I the pleasure of speaking to Dr. 
Bell?” 

“ That is my name. Won’t you take a seat? ” 

“ Thank you. I have only a moment to spare, how- 
ever, as I want to take the ten-fifteen for New York. I 


MISS ADAMS IS SURPRISED 331 
have come, as you doubtless know, to take this young 
woman back with me. Hurry and get your hat, and 1 
will talk to Dr. Bell for a few moments while you are 
gone. I am glad to have this opportunity of thanking 
him for his kindness to you. I am afraid you have 
caused him a good deal of trouble.” 

I said nothing, but did not move. My cheeks were 
burning, and I clung nervously to Charlie’s arm. He 
gave my hand an encouraging pat. 

“ I am very glad to have an opportunity of thanking 
you, too. Miss Adams,” he said. “ I want to thank you 
for your kindness to my sister.” 

“ Your sister? ” repeated Miss Adams, in a tone of 
mild surprise. “ Do I know your sister? You must 
excuse me ; I have such a poor memory for names. I re- 
member meeting some Miss Bells at York Harbor two 
or three years ago; very charming girls — were they 
your sisters? ” 

“ No,” said Charlie, putting his arm around me, and 
drawing me forward as he spoke; “ I have only one sis- 
ter, and here she is. Miss Adams.” 

“What?” gasped Miss Adams, her breath fairly 
taken away by this astounding announcement. “ I don’t 
think I understand. This — this young woman your 
sister! Why, I know all about her; she is the niece of 
my former maid; her name is Margaret Sheehan.” 

“ Oh, no, it isn’t 1 ” said Charlie, with perfect compo- 
sure. “ There has been a slight mistake, and I am very 
sorry. Miss Aadms, if you have been deceived or 
troubled in any way. Her name is Daisy Warren, and 
she is my own dear little sister.” 


332 SILVER LININGS 

Miss Adams sank into a chair, and uttered a suc- 
cession of short, agitated gasps. 

“ I must say, in justice to my sister,” Charlie went 
on, “ that she herself did not know of the relationship 
between us until last night. We have been separated 
for many years, and there were reasons why I did not 
consider it wise to tell her the truth at first. She has 
had a great deal of sorrow, poor child, but it is all over 
now. She fully appreciates all your interest in her 
welfare and all you have done for her, but you will 
readily understand that, under the circumstances, a re- 
turn to ‘ The Home for Destitute Blind ’ is quite out of 
the question.” 

“ Well, of all the remarkable stories I have ever 
heard,” exclaimed Miss Adams, finding her voice at 
last, “ if this is not the most remarkable. What a de- 
ceitful wretch that Mary Sheehan has proved herself to 
be!” 

“ Oh, please don’t blame poor Mrs. Sheehan ! ” I 
cried, earnestly. “ She only did what she thought was 
right. I was very unhappy, and I begged her to shield 
me from the people I thought were my enemies.” 

“ Deception is never justifiable, under any circum- 
stances,” said Miss Adams, sternly. “ I shall certainly 
let Mary Sheehan know my opinion of her conduct. As 
for practical jokes, I have always regarded them as 
the most vulgar form of wit; in fact, simply odious.” 

“Practical jokes!” repeated Charlie, indignantly. 
“ I am afraid there was not much of a joke in this affair 
for anyone. If you only realised what this poor child 
has suffered ” 





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MISS ADAMS IS SURPRISED 333 

“ Excuse me, but I should prefer to hear no more on 
the subject,” interrupted the visitor, rising majestically. 
“ I consider, and I always shall consider, that I have 
been outrageously deceived. How you, a gentleman, 
could have acted as you have done, is more than I can 
understand. To allow your sister to become an object 
of public charity; to countenance her conduct in playing 
practical jokes upon Christian people whose only desire 
is to befriend her. I have the honour to wish you good- 
morning, Dr. Bell.” 

“ Never mind about her, Daisy, dear,” said Charlie, 
consolingly, as the carriage-wheels died away in the 
distance, and I winked hard to keep back the tears. 
“ She isn’t worth it. Of all the disagreeable old 
cats ” 

“ I don’t mind her,” I said, laughing in spite of the 
tears, “ but I am afraid she will visit her wrath upon 
poor Mrs. Sheehan.” 

“ Nonsense ! She won’t do that, and, even if she 
should, what would it matter? Do you suppose for a 
moment that anyone who has been kind to you is going 
to be allowed to suffer? I intend taking the Wests and 
Sheehans under my special care.” 

“ Oh, how good you are! ” I said, impulsively, let- 
ting the happy, grateful tears have their way. “ When 
I think of all the trouble and anxiety I might have 
spared you if I hadn’t been such a goose, and run away 
from the Garlands’, I feel as if I could never forgive 
myself.” 

“ Never mind about that now. I am too happy at 
having found you at last to care for anything else just 


SILVER LININGS 


334 

at present. Here comes Jessie to hear the result of the 
inetrview with the charming Miss Adams.” 

“ Oh, Jessie, I am so happy, so happy ! ” I whispered, 
suddenly flinging my arms around my sister-in-law’s 
neck, as we were saying good-night late that evening. 
“ I never thought I could be so happy again. If I only 
felt sure mother knew all about it.” 

“ I am sure she knows,” said Jessie, kissing me. “ I 
am sure that the dear friends who have left us watch 
over us, and know what we are doing. I can never feel 
that my dear father is very far away. I am sure he is 
sorry when I am sad, and glad when I am happy. And, 
if it is true, he must be very glad to-night, for I never 
was happier in my life. The one shadow on my hus- 
band’s life has been removed, and, you know, Daisy, 
his troubles are my troubles, too, for he is all the world 
to me.” 

“ Oh, Jessie ! ” I cried, “ love me a little, too. I 
have been so lonely; I have longed so for someone to 
love me.” 

Jessie’s answer was to gather me into her kind arms, 
and, although she said nothing in words, her kisses and 
tears were all the assurances I needed, and when I said 
my prayers that night, it was with a heart so full of joy 
and thankfulness that I could find no words in which 
to express it all. But I am sure God knew, without any 
words from me. 


XXVII 

GEORGE SPEAKS THE TRUTH 

I T’S perfectly splendid, Daisy; I can’t see a sin- 
gle fault in it. If the publishers don’t accept it, 
they ought to be ashamed of themselves.” 

Jessie’s tone was one of conviction, and as she spoke 
she carefully folded the typewritten pages of my first 
completed short story. It was only a very simple story, 
and yet how I had worked and planned and dreamed 
over it. The kind words of praise brought the bright 
colour to my cheeks, for Jessie was a critical little per- 
son, and I knew she never flattered. It was a chilly 
November evening, and Jessie and I were sitting to- 
gether beside the library fire, in our pleasant city home. 

“ You must let Charlie read it before you try your 
luck,” Jessie went on, still referring to the story. “ He 
is a good judge, and will be so much interested.” 

‘‘ But he is so busy,” I protested. “ I’m afraid he 
may think it a bother.” 

“A bother? Nonsense! Don’t you know that he 
worships the very ground you walk on, and considers 
everything you do a perfect marvel? ” 

I said nothing, but leaned back in my chair, with a 
little sigh of infinite content. 

There was a short pause while Jessie turned over the 
sheets, and arranged them in order, and then I said more 
seriously than I had spoken before : 

335 


336 SILVER LININGS 

“ If I could really believe that I might make money 
enough in time to support myself, I think I should be 
almost too proud and too happy to live.” 

“ Who knows what may happen in time? ” said Jes- 
sie, hopefully; “ but, Daisy, dear, don’t let Charlie hear 
you talk about supporting yourself. He hates the 
idea.” 

“ I don’t see why, if it should make me happier,” I 
said, a trifle indignantly. 

“ Because, dear, he feels that he owes you so much. 
Even now he doesn’t think that he does half enough for 
you. Oh, Daisy ! you have no idea how he suffers some- 
times.” 

“ I think he is very foolish, and very morbid, then,” 
I said, decidedly. “ I wish he would try to forget it 
all. It was only an accident; it might have happened 
to anyone. Charlie is an angel, but I do think he is a 
little bit silly on that one subject.” 

Jessie made no answer, and we were both silent for a 
few moments. Then the clock on the mantel struck 
nine. 

“ How late Charlie is ! ” remarked Jessie, regret- 
fully. “ I do hope he won’t be kept out again tonight; 
he looked dreadfully tired this aftenoon.” 

“ What did he say in his note? ” 

“ Merely that he was detained by a serious case, and 
wouldn’t be at home to dinner. I think he has had a bad 
case for several days, but he never talks shop to me. It’s 
a grand thing for a man to be a physician ; he has such a 
wide field for doing good, but sometimes it’s a little hard 
on the wives and sisters at home.” 


GEORGE SPEAKS THE TRUTH 337 

“ There he is now! ” I exclaimed, joyfully; “ I hear 
his key in the door.” 

The next moment Charlie came into the room. 

“ You won’t have to go out again tonight, will you, 
dear? ” Jessie asked, anxiously, as her husband bent to 
kiss her. 

“ No, not tonight, I hope. I have had a very trying 
case, but it is over now.” 

He spoke with unusual gravity, and, coming over to 
the sofa, where I was sitting, he took the vacant place 
by my side. 

“ Daisy,” he began, very gently, after a moment’s 
silence, “ I have some news for you, which I think will 
surprise you very much. George Ripley is dead! ” 

“ George dead 1 ” I gave a violent start, and uttered 
a faint cry. “ Oh, Charlie! are you quite sure? Oh, 
poor, poor Rose ! What will she do? ” 

“ I have been attending him for the past three days,” 
said Charlie, gravely. “ He died two hours ago.” 

“And was Rose with him? Where is she? Oh, 
Charlie ! you must let me go to her ; I may be able to 
comfort her a little, and she was very good to me when 
mother died.” 

I half rose as I spoke, but he drew me back gently. 

“ You shall go tomorrow, if you like, but not to- 
night. Rose is all right. Ripley’s sister and her hus- 
band are with her. They all came home on the steamer 
together, and were stopping at the Buckingham. Rip- 
ley was taken ill the day before they landed, and, by the 
time they reached the hotel, he was in a raging fever. 
It was a bad case of pneumonia, and was hopeless almost 


338 SILVER LININGS 

from the first. Some of the hotel people advised their 
sending for me ; Rose didn’t know who I was at first, and 
afterward she didn’t mind.” 

” I am glad you were with her,” I said. “ You were 
kind, I know. But, oh, Charlie! how dreadful. Did 
he suffer very much — did he know he was going to 
die?” 

“ Yes; he was conscious for an hour or two this after- 
noon; he knew his wife and child, and, Daisy, dear, I 
have something else to tell you. Don’t tremble so, my 
dear, it is nothing to frighten you, but Ripley told me 
something just before he died — made a sort of confes- 
sion, in fact. Do you remember what you once told me 
about some papers that were burned, and what you 
thought might have been Ripley’s reason for sending you 
to the Garlands’ ? Well, dear, your suspicion was only 
too well founded. George Ripley destroyed Mr. War- 
ren’s will.” 

” Oh, no, no ! ” I cried, shrinking back almost in 
horror; “ it isn’t true — it can’t be true. Oh, how I have 
despised myself for that hateful suspicion. Oh, the dis- 
grace of it for poor Rose 1 ” And I covered my burn- 
ing face with my hands. 

“ Rose knows nothing about it, as yet,” said Charlie, 
soothingly, ” and perhaps she need never know. When 
Ripley became conscious, and heard my name, he seemed 
to suspect at once who I was. He asked me if I were 
not your brother, and when I told him that I was, he 
said that he had something to say to me, which he did 
not wish that anyone else should hear. He sent every- 
one out of the room, even his wife, and then he told me. 


GEORGE SPEAKS THE TRUTH 339 
He made me write down his confession, word for word, 
and then he signed it himself. I think it had been 
troubling his mind for some time, and that he was hap- 
pier when it was over.” 

“ But Rose didn’t know — you say Rose may never 
know? ” 

“ The matter rests entirely with you. If you wish it 
kept secret. Rose need never know.” 

“ Of course I want it kept secret,” I cried, indig- 
nantly. “ Do you think I wish my brother-in-law’s 
name to be disgraced ? What would father and mother 
think of me if I did — father who was so proud and 
honourable, and mother who loved Rose so dearly? 
Besides, what good could it do to have the thing come 
out now, after all this time? ” 

“ You forget the money,” said Charlie, quietly. 

“ The money,” I repeated, a sudden light breaking in 
upon me. “ You mean the money father left? Some 
of it would have been mine, but the will was destroyed; 
I can’t have the money now.” 

“ George Ripley left a written confession of his 
crime,” Charlie explained. “ If that paper were shown 
to Rose, I am sure she would not refuse to give you what 
is rightfully yours.” 

I was silent. My brain seemed on fire with conflict- 
ing emotions. What was I to do — what ought I to 
do? 

“ It wasn’t Rose’s fault,” I said, after a while. “ It 
would make her very unhappy to know what her hus- 
band had done. And yet you say the money is mine — 
you think I ought to take it? ” 


34(5 SILVERLININGS 

“ I did not say that; I only said the money was 
yours.” 

“ Is it a great deal — would It make much difference 
to Rose if I took it? ” 

“ It would not have made much difference to her a 
year ago, but things are different now. Ripley was not 
an economical man, and I am afraid he has been specu- 
lating a good deal lately. There is enough left, I 
imagine, to make his wife and child very comfortable, 
but that is all.” 

“ Advise me what to do, Charlie,” I said, hopelessly. 
“ I will do whatever you think best.” 

“ My dear child, I would rather you would not ask 
me. You must decide this matter for yourself. The 
money is yours undoubtedly; you have a perfect right to 
claim it.” 

“ Then you would rather I took it,” I said, with a 
catch in my breath. 

“ If it rested with myself, I would say no, a thousand 
times no, but I have no right to urge you in any way. 
Every woman likes to be independent.” 

“ And you don’t mind taking care of me — you don’t 
mind my being dependent upon you ? ” 

“ My darling, I can do so little, and I owe you so 
much. How can you ask such a question? ” 

“ And if I take this money Rose will be poor. She 
isn’t used to doing without things she wants; it will make 
a great difference to her.” 

“ Undoubtedly it will make a difference, but I don’t 
mean by that that she will be in any danger of starving, 
or even in actual want.” 


GEORGE SPEAKS THE TRUTH 341 

“ Mother loved Rose very dearly; I cannot do any- 
thing to make Rose unhappy. She is very proud. I 
think it would almost kill her to learn that her husband 
was not all that she thought him.” 

Charlie said nothing, but put his arm around me ten- 
derly, and I laid my head down on his shoulder for a 
moment. Then I roused myself again. 

“ What should you do, Jessie, if you were in my 
case?” I asked, turning to my practical little sister-in- 
law. 

“ I should let Rose keep her money,” said Jessie, 
without the slightest hesitation. 

“ Then, Charlie, will you please let me have that 
paper? ” 

Charlie drew from his pocket a folded paper, which 
he placed in my hand, without a word. I rose, and, 
walking quickly to the fireplace, leaned forward, and 
dropped the paper into the red-hot coals. Next moment 
George’s confession was lying, a little heap of harmless 
ashes, in the grate. 

The next morning Jessie and I went to see Rose at the 
hotel; we waited in the reception-room while a hall-boy 
took up our cards, and in a few moments a lady ap- 
peared, whom I at once recognised as George’s sister, 
Mrs. Fletcher. Mrs. Fletcher’s home was not in Chi- 
cago, and I had only met her a few times, but she greeted 
me very kindly. 

“ Rose has sent me to bring you to her room,” she 
said; “she is not equal to coming down herself. If 
your friend will wait for you here, we will come back in 
a little while.” 


34^ SILVERLININGS 

Jessie readily agreed, and Mrs. Fletcher took me up- 
stairs to Rose’s private parlour, where we found my 
sister lying on the sofa, from which she did not rise on 
my entrance. 

Her greeting was very calm, almost cold. Rose had 
never been a demonstrative person, and now her grief 
seemed to have hardened rather than softened her. She 
returned my kiss, and asked me to sit down beside her. 
Mrs. Fletcher drew up a low chair for me, close to the 
sofa, and then went away, leaving us alone together. 

“ I am glad to see you, Daisy,” said Rose, in a low, 
unemotional voice, as I took her cold hand in mine, ‘‘ but 
even now I find it hard to forgive you when I think of 
all the sorrow and anxiety your conduct has caused my 
dear husband.” 

I was silent, and the tears started to my eyes, but I 
comforted myself with the reflection that it was not at 
all likely George had given his wife a strictly truthful 
account of his treatment of me. 

“ I never have been able to understand your be- 
haviour,” Rose went on, after waiting in vain for me to 
speak. “ To think of your running away from the Gar- 
lands — those good, Christian people — and bringing all 
that trouble upon us. It was very wicked, Daisy.” 

“ I was very unhappy at the Garlands’,” I said, 
meekly. 

“ Dr. Garland wrote George that he and his sister 
had done everything in their power to make you happy. 
Then to become an inmate of a charitable institution! 
It was simply disgraceful. I felt as if I would never 
hold up my head again when George told me. Did you 


GEORGE SPEAKS THE TRUTH 343 
ever stop to think what dreadful things people would say 
about us? ” 

“ Don’t let us talk about that now, Rose,” I said, 
earnestly. “ My brother and his wife have forgiven 
everything, and I am very happy with them. My sister- 
in-law came with me; she is waiting downstairs. 
Wouldn’t you like to see her? She is very lovely.” 

“ Certainly not,” said Rose, indignantly; “ I should 
not think of seeing any strangers at present. But I am 
glad you are happy,” she added, in a different tone. 
“ Your brother was very kind. It seems so strange to 
think of him being my own first cousin. The whole 
story is most romantic. I don’t think I was ever more 
surprised in my life than when George told me your 
brother was alive, after all.” 

We talked for a few minutes longer, and then Mrs. 
Fletcher returned, and I rose to go. When the moment 
of parting came Rose broke down suddenly, and for 
one moment she clung round my neck, sobbing that her 
heart was broken, and she should never be happy again. 
She controlled herself almost immediately, however, 
and, as I was leaving the room, I heard her giving some 
directions to her maid about making sure the crape on 
her new black dress was sufficiently wide. 

On the way out I asked if I might see little George, 
and Mrs. Fletcher took me to another room, where we 
found my little nephew and old Hannah. The baby did 
not remember me in the least, and ran away crying when 
I attempted to kiss him, but Hannah seemed really glad 
to see me, and assured me, as she wrung my hand, that I 
could never know what she suffered on the day when 


344 SILVER LININGS 

Mrs. Ripley told her I was lost, and no one knew what 

had become of me. 

“ As for poor Mrs. Ripley herself,” she added, “ she 
did take on dreadful, and Mr. Ripley acted as if he was 
going out of his mind, poor gentleman.” 

Jessie was waiting for me in the reception-room, and 
we walked home together, rather silently, but all the 
rest of that day both she and Charlie were very tender 
to me. 

“ It is just one year ago to-night, that I arrived at the 
Garlands’,” I remarked that evening, as we were all 
sitting in the library together, after dinner. “ I wonder 
if any other year of my life will be half so eventful as 
this one has been. I must say I hope not, though the 
last few’ months have been very, very happy.” 

“ The first six months were hard enough for you, lit- 
tle girl,” said Charlie, sadly. “ I wonder if I shall ever 
be able to make up to you for only a little of the sorrow 
I have caused you.” 

“ But Daisy is very happy now,” put in Jessie, in her 
bright, sweet voice, “ and we are going to try to make 
her life so bright that by and by she will forget all 
about that dreadful time, and only remember how good 
and brave and dear she was through it all, and how 
much we all love her.” 


CONCLUSION 


J ESSIE’S words have proved quite true. More than 
one happy year has passed since that evening, and, 
in my busy, contented life, I have almost forgotten 
those terrible days when I thought that all joy in this 
world was over for me. I am a very busy woman now, 
for the publishers did take my story, and not only that 
story, but many another as well. I am no longer wholly 
dependent upon my brother for support. Not that that 
fact makes any real difference ; our affection is much too 
dear and sincere to be disturbed by any such trifles. I 
think Charlie and Jessie have grown to love me very 
dearly. They say they could not get on without me, 
but I tell them that is all nonsense, for they got on very 
well before they had ever seen me. 

Lulu is growing a big girl. She goes to school now, 
and is regarded by her teacher and friends as a truly re- 
markable child. She is quite devoted to “ Aunt Daisy,” 
and, as for me, I think I fairly worship her. 

Not long ago I received a short letter from Rose, in- 
forming me of her engagement to her old friend, Fred 
Harris. She seemed very happy, and we all sent our 
hearty congratulations. Fred has done very well in the 
world since those days when he and Rose used to meet at 
dancing school, and I have every reason to believe that 
my sister’s second marriage will prove a most satisfac- 
tory affair altogether. 


345 


34^ SILVER LININGS 

I have never met Miss Adams since that morning at 
Peak’s Point, but we occasionally hear of her through 
our mutual friend, Mrs. Lester. She has lately taken 
up painting, and considers herself quite a rising artist, 
but has given up Christian Science, because, as she as- 
sured Mrs. Lester, it did not prove as spiritual as she 
had been led to believe. 

Jessie and I often visit the Home, where I am wel- 
comed joyfully by Mary Green and most of the other 
women. Old Catherine treats me with mild condescen- 
sion, but evidently pities the taste of one who could 
voluntarily choose the frivolities of the outside world in 
preference to the solid comforts of the Home. 

And poor little Mollie, once my only friend, what of 
her? Mollie is my friend still, and we have plenty of 
opportunity for strengthening that friendship, for she 
is my maid and constant companion. It was all Charlie’s 
doing. He it was who persuaded her aunt to take her 
from the millinery establishment, and who sent her to 
school for two whole years, that she might learn enough 
to be able to read aloud to me, and make herself other- 
wise useful. Mollie has fulfilled the promise of her 
youth. She is a bright, capable girl, and devoted heart 
and soul to us all, from Charlie down to Lulu’s kitten. 
All the other members of the West family are doing 
well. Two of the boys have already secured good posi- 
tions in the city, and Mrs. West has moved from the 
shanty to one of the new model tenements. She is a 
very happy woman, and frequently declares, with tears 
in her eyes — so Mollie tells me — that the luckiest day 
of her life was the one on which she took the apparently 


CONCLUSION 347 

homeless, friendless blind girl into her own poor home, 
and her warm, loving heart. 

“ And is that all the story? Why, there isn’t a word 
about love or marriage in it ! ” I hear some of you ex- 
claim. Well, girls, I am sorry if you are disappointed, 
but I never did have a lover in my life, and I sometimes 
wonder if the married people are the only happy mor- 
tals, after all. I know that I myself am a supremely 
happy woman. With Charlie and Jessie and Lulu to 
love me, and with all the dear friends I have made, and 
the pleasant work which fills up so much of my time, 
I feel that I have nothing left in this world to ask for. 


THE END. 


,1 


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(l^elett Burgess auti Will 

Authors of “ The Picaroons ” 

THE REIGN OF QUEEN ISYL 

In ^^The Reign of Queen Isyl ” the authors 
have hit upon a new scheme in fiction. The book 
is both a novel and a collection of short stories. 
The main story deals with a carnival of flowers 
in a California city. Just before the coronation 
the Queen of the Fiesta disappears, and her 
Maid of Honor is crowned in her stead — Queen 
Isyl. There are plots and counterplots— half- 
mockery, half-earnest — beneath which the reader 
is tantalized by glimpses of the genuine mystery 
surrounding the real queen’s disappearance. 

Thus far the story differs from other novels 
only in the quaintly romantic atmosphere of mod- 
ern chivalry. Its distinctive feature lies in the 
fact that in every chapter one of the characters 
relates an anecdote. Each anecdote is a short 
story of the liveliest and most amusing kind — 
complete in itself — yet each bears a vital relation 
to the main romance and its characters. The 
short stories are as unusual and striking as the 
novel of which they form a part. 

$1.50 

£l^cClure, & Co. 


93p illojtj (J^stjourtie 


LOVE THE FIDDLER 

r 

Love fiddles both merrily and sadly in the 
stories that make up this book, but however 
he fiddles he makes the music for a sparkling, 
charmingly told love-episode. “ All the world 
loves a lover,” and all the world has here 
choice from among a very wide and varied 
assortment of them — every one a human and 
real person — involved in an event which the 
author makes you feel is critically interesting. 

$1.50 


SlpcClure, S. Co. 


#ra|)atn 


Author of “ Golden Fleece.” 

THE MASTER ROGUE 

r 

STUDY in the tyranny of wealth. James 
Galloway founds his fortune on a fraud. He 
ruins the man who has befriended him and steals 
away his business. Vast railroad operations next 
claim his attention. He becomes a bird of prey 
in the financial world. One by one he forsakes 
his principles; he becomes a hypocrite, posing, 
even to himself. With the degeneration of his 
moral character come domestic troubles. His 
wife grows to despise him. One of his sons be- 
comes a spendthrift ; the other a forger. His 
daughter, Helen, alone retains any affection for 
him. His attempts to force his family into the 
most exclusive circles subject him and them to 
mortifying rebuffs, for all his millions cannot over- 
come the ill-repute of his name. At last, with his 
hundred millions won, his house the finest in 
America, his name a name to conju»re with in the 
financial world, he realizes that the goal he has 
reached was not worth the race. Still he clings 
to his old ways, and dies in a fit of anger, haggling 
over his daughter’s dowry. $1.50. 


^apcClure, & Co. 


91. Conan Bo^le 


Author of “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes 

THE ADVENTURES OF 
GERARD 

r 


Stories of the remarkable adventures of a 
Brigadier in Napoleon’s army. In Etienne Ge- 
rard, Conan Doyle has added to his already famous 
gallery of characters one worthy to stand beside 
the notable Sherlock Holmes. Many and thrill- 
ing are Gerard’s adventures, as related by himself, 
for he takes part in nearly every one of Napoleon’s 
campaigns. In Venice he has an interesting 
romantic escapade which causes him the loss of 
an ear. With the utmost bravery and cunning 
he captures the Spanish city of Saragossa ; in 
Portugal he saves the army ; in Russia he feeds 
the starving soldiers by supplies obtained at 
Minsk, after a wonderful ride. Everwhere else 
he is just as marvelous, and at Waterloo he is the 
center of the whole battle. 

For all his lumbering vanity he is a genial old 
soul and a remarkably vivid story-teller. 

Illustrated by W. B. Wollen. 

$ 1.50 


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